SPITTING IMAGE
by Silvertayl 57
Summary: In Savannah Georgia, a pattern of murders is repeated every 29 years. Dean and Sam suspect a vengeful spirit is responsible. As they uncover the facts behind the spirits actions; it becomes clear that one of the brothers is destined to become the spirits
1. Chapter 1

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

_**A Supernatural Story By: SILVERTAYL**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_sigh!)

**STORY SUMMARY:**

**In Savannah Georgia, a pattern of murders is repeated every 29 years. Dean and Sam suspect a vengeful spirit is responsible. As they uncover the facts behind the spirits actions; it becomes clear that one of the brothers is destined to become the spirits next victim; will they be able to stop the cycle of death, before it's too late for one of the Winchester Brothers? **

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

This story follows 3 months after my last_**SUPERNATURAL**_story, _**THE BEAST WITH NO NAME, **_it is **not** however a sequel it is a stand alone story.

As always thanks go to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.

**Chapter 1**

_**Savannah Georgia – March, 1921**_

Louis Archer stood over his sleeping son. James was lying on his bed still clothed in a shirt and dress pants, his bow tie and dinner jacket lay discarded beside the large bed, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, his polished leather shoes still laced to his feet.

James had been pulling his belongings from the closet and the dresser, some lay strewn across the imported Persian carpet; others had been stuffed haphazardly into a large suitcase. He had fallen asleep half way through the process of packing; he was at the moment at his most vulnerable. Now was the opportunity for Louis to do what he had been told.

Louis was a God fearing man he worshipped at the Cathedral of John the Baptist every Sunday; he had raised his two sons to do the same. So what he was about to do he considered God's work, God had told him to do this; he had whispered in his ear telling what must be done.

Louis looked down into the handsome face of his second son, his mind replaying the conversation he and James had an hour ago at the bottom of the winding staircase after James had come in after another night out with his so called friend, his lover, Louis had earlier tonight found out James' secret, he was having a love affair with a man, that good for nothing wastrel, Eric Benoit.

Their southern voices rose through the large family home as they each tried to make the other see some of their point of reason in this situation.

"Please try to understand, I've been living a lie, lying to myself to you to Richard to the whole of Savannah, I'm not going to do that any more. I tried to deny the way I felt, I really did, but I have accepted the way I am, the way I feel… about Eric I love him and we want to be together."

Louis couldn't believe those words had come from his son's mouth. He was shocked, angry, disappointed, ashamed, he yelled at James hoping to make him see this for what it was, a mistake, he was throwing his life away because of his misguided feelings for a man. "Love how can you call that love? It's against God and nature that's not the way God intended men to love, its evil an abomination. Thank God your mother is not alive to see what you have become; it would have broken her heart as you have broken mine."

James was breathing heavily his face flushed with anger and frustration; his green eyes so like his mother's were filled with hurt as they searched his fathers face, looking for something, acceptance maybe. "I'm sorry you feel that way, but it doesn't change anything, I'm not going to let you dictate the way I live my life any longer."

"You are my son, this is my home you will do as I say, or suffer the consequences, James if you continue with this nonsense, then I will no longer call you my son, I will disown you, disinherit you, you will get nothing from me; I will never speak your name again, do you understand me?"

James' eyes widened with shock, only to be wiped away a moment later by a look of resignation. "So be it, I don't need your money, your name, I'll be gone tomorrow, you'll never see me again, I hope you're satisfied, goodbye father."

James turned away and rushed up the staircase his hand-tailored suit pulling across the muscles of his back as he took the stairs two at a time.

Louis stood staring at the top of the stairs long after James had disappeared from his line of sight and the echoing of the slamming of his son's bedroom door had fallen away. Louis didn't know how long it was that he stood there before God spoke to him, told him what must be done, and Louis was the one that would fulfill God's will.

Now as Louis continued to look upon his son; his steel gray eyes were cold, not a trace of the loving father he had been remained. Louis knew what he had to do; he had to do it for his dear darling Elise taken from him too soon aged 26 at James' birth when his first born Richard was only three, for James himself, and most importantly of all for God. He could not bear to see his precious son become an evil, wicked abomination; an ungodly creature.

Before he had ascended the staircase Louis had gone to the kitchen and pulled a large serrated carving knife from the knife draw, it had taken him a few minutes to locate what he was looking for, as Louis never went into his own kitchen, the kitchen was for staff, servants. Now he lifted the knife high in the air, hesitating only briefly he whispered to the sleeping figure. "I have to do this, it's the only way." Bringing the knife down and plunging it to the hilt into James' stomach.

James long-lashed beautiful eyes flew open a gasp escaped his lips, his hands fisted into the bedspread in pain and shock.

Louis looked away from those eyes, Elise's eyes to his own hand wrapped tightly around the knife's handle, pulling it from his son he lifted it again, blood dripped across the colorful bedspread.

Before his father plunged the knife into him again James lifted his hands from the bedspread to the mahogany stain spreading over his white shirt, his full lips parted, one word escaped drawing his father eyes back to his face. "Why?"

The loving father Louis had been returned then, Louis felt tears of sadness and loss well in his eyes, his lips began to tremble, he gave his son an answer and yet it was not an answer at all. "I had to I'm sorry." Plunging the knife down again, this time the knife buried itself in James' chest.

Spatters of blood flew into the air across Louis' hand and James' face.

James bloodstained hands fell away from the wound in his stomach and rested by his sides, the wound to his chest was fatal, his life was draining away, leaving him no strength to fight off the vicious attack by his own father, he looked from his father's hand curled around the knife protruding from his chest to his fathers face.

Louis saw betrayal in those eyes, _how can he look at me with a look of betrayal? I'm the one who is betrayed, me, my Elise and God._

The loving father was again gone, his lips curled away from his clenched teeth and in a frenzy of movement he plunged the knife time after time into James' chest and stomach with a strength born of anger and madness, the thrusts coming faster and faster until his son was a bloody, gory mess, a crimson stain spreading from his lifeless body clawing its way towards the edge of the bed.

His anger and energy gone, Louis stood panting from his exertions; he looked at the wide staring eyes of the thing that had once been his son, still he saw betrayal in their cool green depths. His anger rekindled. There was one more thing he must do. All sanity had flown and the madness had taken over, the madness told him to commit one final act of destruction, the madness told him this act would set things right.

Without hesitation he did it.

_**Savannah Georgia – March, 2008**_

"Man this place is nice," Dean said as the Impala passed yet another park with yet another fountain, sprouting crystal clear water high into the afternoon air, only to fall back to earth. "Lots of fountains and stuff."

"You've never been here before?" Sam asked his attention not on the park or the fountain as he squinted at the street signs.

"Nah, Atlanta but never Savannah."

"Well that makes two of us."

Dean glanced across at Sam, the map of Savannah open on his knees, a long index finger stabbing at a spot on the map he was trying to navigate them to. His head bobbing up and down as he alternated between looking down at the map and out the window at the street signs. "You have'n any luck with the map, geek boy?"

Sam was deep in concentration. "Should be just up here… wow, wow, turn left here." He said suddenly.

Dean checked the rearview mirror and swung the wheel to the left, the big car responded instantly turning with only a slight squeal of tires.

Dean smiled as Sam pushed himself upright away from the door rubbing his arm where it had slammed against the door after the sudden turn.

"Thanks for that Dean." Sam's tone just a little bit annoyed.

"You said turn left, so I did."

"Yeah whatever, dude."

Dean laughed and Sam gave him a look that could kill. "Should be just up here on the left, corner of Papy Street." The words had hardly exited Sam's mouth when Dean saw the sign saying **Thunderbird Inn**, this time he swung the wheel to the left steering the car into the motel driveway pulling to a screeching halt in front of the motel office.

This time the sudden movement of the car forced Sam to slide across the bench seat, he ended up pressed shoulder to shoulder against his brother. Sam glared at Dean as he pushed away from him giving Dean's shoulder a hard shove as he tried to compose himself.

Dean smiled again his green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sorry Sammy, why don't you go check us in I'll wait here."

Their sudden and noisy arrival had drawn an audience; Dean saw two pairs of eyes watching them from behind the glass of the office window.

With another glare in Dean's direction and not a word Sam got out and slammed the door harder than was necessary as a small measure of a pay back for the rollercoaster ride, knowing Dean hated any mistreatment of his Baby, satisfied he walked into the office.

Dean cringed as the slamming of the door reverberated through the car causing it to rock gently from side to side. _Guess I deserved that, call it even Sammy._ "Sorry Baby, my fault." He spoke to the car while patting the dash.

In the three months since they'd left Oregon they'd been busy with one hunt after another. First there was the Black Dog near Texas Creek in Colorado, and although Dean was glad to be away from the cold of Oregon the Black Dog eluded them for a whole week before they finally trapped and killed the sneaky sucker. Dean had celebrated his 29th birthday somewhere near the Oklahoma/Arkansas border on their way to Pine Bluff Arkansas and as he suspected a large nest of vampires, they had been responsible for numerous disappearances and cattle deaths, three of the missing people had been turned. The head vampire was smart enough to cover their tracks fairly well; it had taken Sam and Dean two weeks to locate the nest then another week to clean it out. Both Dean and Sam had been battered, bloody and exhausted by the time they finished the blood-suckers off, dug a large pit and burned the decapitated bodies, heads included. They recuperated on the way to the next hunt, a demon possessed Headmaster at a high school in Birmingham Alabama, turned out to be a low level demon that was quickly exorcised and sent back to the pit, screaming, smoking and cursing them both, like they hadn't heard that before. The headmaster thankfully for him remembered nothing of the ordeal and resumed his duties at the high school three days later.

For a week after the exorcism they stayed on at the **Days Inn** in Birmingham while Sam slept all night did some research on some possible hunts during the day, and Dean slept all day and went out all night hustling pool and playing poker earning them some much needed funds, in the early hours of the morning he would arrive back at the motel, pockets bulging with cash and usually three or four ladies phone numbers, that he would never call. Dean had plenty of bars and pool halls to choose from in Birmingham, so Dean never had to take money from the same unsuspecting locals twice.

Then Sam had found an article from a Savannah newspaper and they had their next hunt. The article read:

_**SAVANNAH'S SERIAL KILLER**_

_**29 YEAR CYCLE CONTINUES, ARCHERS GHOST STRIKES AGAIN!**_

_**A man was found murdered on Sunday evening March 2, stabbed to death on E Ogelthorpe Ave outside the Colonial Park Cemetery. Full details of the murder are being withheld due to the gruesome nature of the murder. Local history buffs are convinced the murder is the work of **__**Savannah's Serial Killer Ghost**__** known to the locals as**__** Archers Ghost.**__** Every 29 years in 1950 and again in 1979, and now in 2008 a series of murders occurs all are young men in their late twenties and all bare a striking resemble to **__**James Archer**__** aged 29 who was murdered in the family home, **__**The Archer Mansion**__** by his father Louis on March 7 1921, exactly 29 years before the first series of murders took place in 1950. The legend tells that the insane ghost of **__**Louis Archer**__** comes back to make sure his son is dead every 29 years in the month he murdered him, March, stabbing to death any young man who resembles James.**_

_**Police believe the most recent murder is the work of a copy-cat murderer and have issued a warning to all young men to take care and not go out or walk the streets unaccompanied late at night in that area of Savannah, police have asked anyone with any information on the murders to come forward as investigations continue. **_

So here they were in Savannah in the Deep South to put an end to the deaths before the vengeful spirit struck again.

Dean was deep in thought and didn't see Sam leave the office and approach the car; he jumped when Sam banged his fist on top of the car.

Sam was leaning in the window and smiling at Dean's reaction.

"Jeezs Sam are you trying to give me a heart attack?" Sam started to laugh.

Through his laughter Sam said. "Bit jumpy there bro? Its number 17 upstairs, park in the numbered bay.

Still laughing Sam walked towards the stairs leading to the upper level of the motel. Dean started the car and followed slowly behind his extra tall little brother, half tempted to give him an unplanned ride on the hood of the Impala.

Sam pointed to a bay marked with 17, indicating for Dean to park there, it wasn't far from the stairs to the upper level so they wouldn't have to carry the heavy weapons bag and all their other stuff too far.

The room smelled of floral bouquet, was tastefully decorated, (for a change) bright and clean, two comfy looking queen sized beds, the bathroom was also clean, tiled with soft pastel green tiles, the big soft, fluffy towels color coordinated also in green.

After settling in, Dean cleaned the guns and Sam opened the laptop on the decent sized table, he was looking for any more information on The Legend of Archers Ghost and anything else to do with The Archer Family, before he would force Dean into a trip with him to the local library, on a research and fact finding mission. It was a typical scenario for the Winchester Brothers, Sam doing research on his trusty laptop while Dean cleaned the weapons. Sam knew Dean could do it with his eyes shut; he had done it countless times before, which meant they always had well serviced weapons in their arsenal that they could rely upon in their never-ending battle against evil. Sam enjoyed the research side of hunting, he figured it was left over from his days at Stanford, he loved the smell of libraries the smell of knowledge waiting for someone to open a book and partake of that knowledge, Dean called it the smell of musty old books and musty even older librarians. Sam knew how much Dean hated research and libraries and that suited Sam fine, but sometimes the research had to be done by the two of them and this was one of those times.

Thirty minutes later, Sam sighed and closed the laptop. Dean had finished cleaning the guns and was lying stretched out on the bed he had claimed for himself.

At Sam's sigh Dean lifted his head and looking at Sam. "Anything?"

Sam ran his hands through his too long hair before answering. "Nope all I could come up with was the same newspaper article from 2 days ago, so….."

Dean quirked up one eyebrow. "So?"

"You know what that means."

Realization dawned on Dean's face. "I have to do research, don't I?"

"Yahtzee."

"Oh come on, you've gotta be kiddin me?"

The Chatham County Public Library over looked the Savannah River, Dean was easily distracted by the view out the panoramic window, Sam poked him with the pen he was using to bring his attention back to the job at hand for the third time in twenty minutes.

"Quit poking me dude." Dean hissed, trying to keep his voice low, glancing at the male librarian who had already had to speak to Dean once about keeping his voice down in the library.

"Well quit staring out the window." Sam hissed back leaning forward into Dean's face.

"Dude personal space."

"Concentrate Dean this is important." Sam was still leaning forward.

"It might be important, but it's soooo boring."

Sam was on the library's computer going through newspaper records dating back to March 1921 when James Archer had been murdered. Dean was supposed to be going through Savannah's local history books and the birth deaths and marriages documentation looking for any further information about the Archer family, but he was easily distracted by the view whether it be the one out the window or the tall leggy blonde who was reading at a nearby table wearing a short skirt leaving not a lot to the imagination after she crossed one leg over the other, leaving Dean to ponder if she was another Sharon Stone from that movie, _whatever it was called,_ Dean could only recall **that **scene,he'd find out soon enough if that skirt that could pass as a wide belt kept rising further up her shapely thighs with every small movement she made. Suddenly she closed the book she was reading from, she got to her feet uncrossing her legs in one fluid motion and headed for the exit, Dean saw a hint of lilac lace as she rose, _well so much for Sharon Stone._

He heaved a heavy sigh causing Sam to look at him; reluctantly he went back to research, _fun's over._

Sam had finally come to the article about the murder of James Archer, _at last. _It was dated March 9, 1921.

"Hey Dean I found something." Dean stood and went to stand behind Sam peering over his shoulder at the article; Sam began to read loud enough for only Dean to hear.

_**LOUIS ARCHER FOUND DEAD AFTER MURDERING SON! **_

_**Richard Archer returned from a business trip yesterday and found the body of his father well known local business man Louis Archer at the bottom of the staircase in the family's Savannah home, Richard also made the gruesome discovery of his brother James' body in an upstairs bedroom, it appears Louis Archer stabbed James to death and then fell to his own death down the stairs, his neck was broken, a bloody knife was also found on Louis Archers body. Richard Archer is distraught by the death of his family, Richard and James mother Elise died in child birth 29 years ago police are continuing their investigations into deaths. The local Catholic Church and business community are shocked and saddened by the loss of the prominent and popular Savannah identity.**_

When he was finished Dean said. "Huh that doesn't tell us anything we don't already know."

"Maybe there's more, I'll keep looking." Sam went back to sliding the old newspaper pages across the screen. Dean went back to the book he had just picked up before Sam had called him over, it was called:

_**THE**_ _**A - Z **_

_**OF PROMINENT**_

_**SAVANNAH FAMILIES.**_

_**ALL THE FACTS**_

_**& FIGURES**_

Now he was getting somewhere, he didn't have to turn many pages before he got to Archer.

_**THE ARCHER FAMILY **_

_- Louis James Archer was born in Savannah in 1850 of British parents, James and Grace Archer._

_- His parents died of a mysterious illness when Louis was 16. _

_- After the death of his parents Louis sort solace in the church attending mass at the Cathedral of John the Baptist Catholic Church every week._

_- Louis started buying and selling Savannah real estate in his twenties and quickly made his fortune and built a thriving business._

_- In 1884 he built The Archer Mansion on Lincoln Street._

_- He was 37 when he married 21 year old Elise De la Croix in the Cathedral of John the Baptist in 1887._

_- Son Richard Louis Archer was born November 19 1888._

_- A second son James Francis Archer was born January 24 1892. _

_- Elise Archer died after James' birth, due to complications._

_- Louis never re-married, after the death of his beloved Elise._

_- Louis and James were found dead in the family home on March 8 1921 by Richard._

_- It is thought that Louis stabbed James to death and then either fell or jumped to his death down the Archer Mansion staircase._

_- The reason why Louis murdered his son still remains a mystery today._

_- James was only 29 at the time of his death. Louis was 71._

_- Richard married 2 years after the death of his father and brother._

_- His son Edward was born in 1924._

_- Edward married in 1954._

_- Edward's son Matthew was born in 1957 _

_- Matthew still lives in the Archer Mansion with his wife Lilia_

_- They have a son David born in 1983 who no longer resides in Savannah._

_- The Archer family real estate business has continued to grow over the last three generations and is one of the leading family-owned businesses in Savannah._

_- The Archer family is also one of the wealthiest families in Savannah._

_- Savannah is said to be haunted by the ghost of Louis Archer, more information on __**Archer's Ghost**__ can be found in the book entitled - __**HAUNTINGS OF SAVANNAH**__ – by Savannah based author - __**Terry French.**_

Below this there was a recent color photo of The Archer Mansion.

At last he had found something of interest. He searched through the books scattered across the table, looking for Hauntings of Savannah, it wasn't there so he needed to go to the desk and ask the elderly librarian he'd nick-named Dracula due to his red-rimmed eyes, protruding fang like teeth and skin so pale it appeared translucent, plus Dean thought he bore a striking resemblance to the actor Christopher Lee who'd starred in a few Dracula movies a couple or three decades ago.

Dean looked at Sam wondering if there was a way he could get Sam to go and ask for the book, but Sam was engrossed in the newspaper archives, so he would just have to do it. _Oh well here goes._

As Dean rose somewhat reluctantly, Sam glanced up at him from the screen giving Dean a look that said, _"Where the hell do you think you're going?"_

"I'll be right back." Dean answered the unspoken question.

Dean stood at the desk in front of Dracula. Dracula choose to ignore him even though Dean knew that he knew he was there, he was doing it on purpose. Dracula was pretending to key something really, really important into the library computer.

Dean felt his anger rise; Dracula was being petty and ignoring him, just because he had to ask Dean to keep his voice down in the library.

Dean's anger was starting to simmer when Dracula said without looking at Dean. "Yes?"

"Do you have a copy of Hauntings of Savannah?" Dean asked nicely.

Still the man never looked at him; he lifted his hand and waved in the direction of the books. "Try local history, on the left." His southern accent seemed to be purposely exaggerated.

"Gee thanks for your help, all you's folks in Savannah are so friendly."

The man finally looked up, hearing the insult and sarcasm in Dean's tone.

Dean smiled his sweetest smile and turned towards the book isles. The three meter high rows and rows of books marched away to left and right looking kind of intimidating, Dean was waiting for them to come to life and attack him like a scene from a Harry Potter movie.

Non fiction on the left and Fiction on the right, A-Z.

Dean made his way down the left until he got to local history; and then H; eventually he found what he was looking for Hauntings of Savannah by Terry French. He took the book and went back to the table where Sam was still sitting.

Dean plunked the book down on the table causing Sam to jump; he looked from the book to Dean before saying. "What you got there?"

"Something that will hopefully give us some information on the spirit, what about you, found anything else?"

"Not a lot, the police came to the conclusion of murder/suicide."

"Do they know why he did it?"

"Don't think they ever found out, information is very sketchy, other than that just the funeral notices."

Dean showed Sam the page on the Archer Family in _**The A-Z of Prominent Savannah Families. All the Facts and Figures. **_While he opened _**Hauntings of Savannah**_ and it was here that he finally found the some helpful information on Louis Archer's spirit.

The legend of Archer's ghost began in 1950 when 3 young men were brutally stabbed to death and their eyes gouged out with the same weapon used to kill them. All the murders occurred in the same area of Savannah in the month of March exactly 29 years to the month of James Archer's murder, the men all in someway resembled James, the murderer or the weapon were never found. All the bodies were found in a kilometer square radius incorporating the Archer mansion, the church the Archers worshipped at and the Colonial Park Cemetery, where the Archer Family have a crypt in which Louis and James are interred. People at the time called the killer the Invisible Killer and police suspected a killer similar to that of London's Jack the Ripper and no motive was found.

The legend surfaced again in 1979 again in the month of March when the same thing happened this time it was 5 murders, all stabbed and the eyes gouged out. All once again resembled James Archer and all the murders occurred in the same one kilometer area, no weapon or killer found and the legend of Archer's Ghost was born. No one knew the reason why Louis the loving father murdered James so viciously or why he returns every 29 years to make sure James is still dead.

The last part read: _"Local history buffs say that every 29 years the spirit of Louis haunts the streets of Savannah looking for James so he can murder him over again. Although no one has ever seen Archer's Ghost, locals believe the legend and are waiting to see if the Archer's Ghost will go on a another killing spree in March of 2008."_

_Wow, this dude gouged his own son's eyes out after stabbing him to death; this is one hell of a twisted, vicious pissed off spirit. _Well the local history buffs already knew that yes Archer's Ghost would continue his killing spree in March 2008, so far only one murder, and if he and Sam did something now it would remain at one and Archer's Ghost would never return to kill again.

"Hey Sam skip forward to March 1950." Sam had finished reading the section of the book Dean had showed him and had gone back to scrolling the newspapers.

Dean went to stand at Sam's shoulder; eventually Sam got to March 1950, where one by one the 5 murders made front page headlines, after the first one Sam said almost the exact same thing as Dean had thought, "He gouges their eyes out with a knife, this is one pissed off vicious spirit." Sam noted the dates and location of each murder, and did the same for the murders in March 1979, the same street names came up again and again.

"Seems Archer's Ghost likes the dear and familiar." Sam stated, "I'll get photocopies of all this."

It was late when they got back to the motel, they'd had a large and filling meal at a local restaurant highly recommended by the motel manager, as the manager had said they weren't disappointed and both had been hungry after missing lunch. With their hunger sated they sorted through the information they had gathered at the library, planning their next move. That was when Sam noticed a few what he thought were interesting facts. "Hey Dean d'you notice some similarities between you and James Archer?"

Dean was sitting on his bed sorting through some of the photocopies, he looked at Sam. "Similarities, what do mean by similarities?"

"Well here it says James was born on the 24th of January and was 29 when he was murdered by his father."

"So we share a birth date; just a coincidence."

"Dude your birth date is the 24th of January and you are 29, that's some coincidence."

"Yeah Sam like I said coincidence."

"So you don't think these coincidences put you onto Archer's Ghost's hit list?"

"Nah, probably not."

Sam thought Dean wasn't convinced by his own words.

Although neither he nor Dean had seen any pictures of James Sam had a feeling Dean probably resembled him, it seemed to Sam that Dean fell into the category of the victim's and had even more in common with James, such as the exact same birth date and the exact same age. Sam had a sudden bad feeling that Dean would be targeted by the ghost of Louis Archer in this 29 year cycle.

Sam looked back at his brother who was tracing the murder pattern on the map, if he kept on about it Dean would call him paranoid, tell him he was being a girl. Sam decided that for now he would keep his fears to himself, but while they were in Savannah he was not going to let Dean out of his sight and he was definitely not going to let Dean go anywhere at night on his own.

Sam was expecting Dean to suggest that he go and check out the streets in the area where the murders had taken place, if he did there was no way he was going without Sam, so it was a relieved Sam who whole heartedly agreed with Dean when he said they should get an early night and a fresh start in the morning, _he knows it, but he's not gonna admit it to me_. Sam yawned ostensibly saying he was tired and it was too late to do anything tonight. They agreed to pay a visit to the Archer Mansion and the Cathedral of John the Baptist and also the Archer family crypt, tomorrow in daylight, that's good coz the spooks only come out at night.

Tomorrow the hunt to rid Savannah of Archer's Ghost would begin in earnest.

**TBC**

**The first chapter is giving you the background of the story and is to set up the hunt for our intrepid Winchester's, also to let you know what the boys have been up to since leaving Oregon, hope it's not too boring.**

**Please review and let me know your thoughts on chapter 1.**

**Also are you wondering why it's called **_**SPITTING IMAGE**_**Well the answer to that will be revealed in chapter 2, although most of you have probably figured it out.**


	2. Chapter 2

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_heavy sigh!)

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

I am not a very religious person and I know little about the Catholic Church, I am apologizing now if anyone is offended by my portrayal of Father Harper and the Catholic Church in general, I assure you no offense is intended and is only due to a lack of knowledge and only for the purpose of the story, after all it is only a story, right!

Sorry I have not replied to any of your reviews but the review alerts are not being sent to my inbox, so I have no way of answering your kind reviews on chapter 1, so I am thanking all who left a review especially _**darksupernatural,**_ thanks Kris.

**Chapter 2**

_**Savannah Georgia – March, 2008**_

27 year old Rafe Grayson was late, late for his own wedding rehearsal, a practice run for the real thing this Saturday; he should have been at the church 25 minutes ago. His bride to be Della would be waiting, in his minds eye he could see her telling Father Harper_, "I'm sure he'll be here any time now Father, I've left messages on his cell phone, I rang his work they said he left ages ago."_

He was only a block and a half away from the church now, Rafe quickened and lengthened his stride, he was almost running now, his light brown hair flopped in and out of his eyes with every step that he took. _Gotta get a haircut between now and Saturday._

Everything had delayed him, from the late afternoon meeting that had gone on way longer than it should of, until after six, his car was in the shop so he'd rang for a cab, but after fifteen minutes it had failed to show, Rafe had taken off on foot whilst at the same time trying to ring Della and tell her he was on his way, only to discover his cell phone battery had died, no doubt Della had been trying to ring him and had left numerous messages, Rafe quickened his pace.

He could see the church spire now up and slightly to his right, a few more strides and he could see someone standing on the footpath directly in front of the church, most likely it was his best man and best friend Paul, no doubt Della or Father Harper had sent him outside into the cool March evening to try and locate the errant groom.

As Rafe got closer he could tell it wasn't Paul, the man was tall or was it that he seemed to be floating a foot above the footpath that made him appear so.

"Now I'm seeing things." Rafe whispered breathlessly to himself as he slowed to a walk. He was only a few meters away from the church steps.

The floating man was looking intently at him; no staring was a better word. Rafe had a sudden feeling that something wasn't right. The man appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies dressed strangely in a suit circa 1920's, a suit these days one might find in the goodwill store.

He appeared surreal and ghostly; his skin was pale and had a translucent look, his outline seemed to be fuzzy and blurred and no Rafe wasn't seeing things the man was a good foot off the ground. _Some kinda' pre-wedding trick? Ha Ha very funny._

Rafe stopped a couple of meters from the man, he should say something, ask him what he wanted, but before Rafe opened his mouth the floating man spoke. "I've been waiting for you James."

Rafe found his voice. "Sorry friend you've got the wrong man, I'm not James and I'm late for my wedding rehearsal, they're waiting for me inside." Rafe indicated towards the church and took two small steps to his right towards the steps.

The man didn't appear to have heard or either he ignored him. The floating man lifted his right hand, and Rafe noticed he had something in it; a large knife, light from a nearby street light glinted off the shiny metal surface.

Rafe knew he was in big trouble, only then did the police warnings about being on the streets alone after dark make sense, _should have called another cab._ He took another step to his right and felt the rise of the bottom step against his ankle.

The man followed his movement still staring at him the knife poised, he spoke again. "It's time James."

"Time for what?" Rafe asked. He lifted his foot and planted it on the bottom step; he had taken his first step towards the safety of the church and his Della.

"Time to die." Without moving his feet the man rushed at him.

Rafe turned away from the advancing man, he hastily climbed the steps, he was three steps closer to safety when he caught his toe on the edge of the next step, tripped and fell face first onto the steps, sprawled across the cold stone.

Desperate now Rafe tried to get to his hands and knees, to crawl if necessary, he had to get inside the church. Suddenly he felt his body lift and turn in the air and then his back slammed hard into the stone steps, he lay there stunned, he couldn't move, the cold edge of the steps digging painfully into various areas all down his back and legs.

The man appeared directly above him, Rafe looked from the knife raised high ready to strike to the ice cold steel gray hate filled eyes glaring at him from his pale translucent, milky white face. Rafe could do nothing, he was being held firm by something he couldn't see, he was going to die.

Rafe opened his mouth to beg for his life, a life he was yet to live, with his Della. His vocal cords would not cooperate they seemed to be paralyzed; he couldn't force one word from his straining throat.

Instead it was his attacker who spoke; they would be the last words Rafe would ever hear. "Its God's will it must be done."

With that the man swung the knife down in a graceful arc, plunging it into Rafe's chest. The first blow penetrated Rafe's heart, stopping it almost instantaneously, he was dead before the knife was withdrawn and plunged in a second time, a third time or the many times that followed, his life blood cooling against the stone steps as it trailed away from his lifeless body and pooled in his empty eye sockets.

_**Savannah Georgia - March, 2008 (The next morning)**_

The brothers were out fairly early the next morning they had decided to go to the Archer Mansion via the church and talk to the priest, Father Rex Harper, as the brothers got closer to the Cathedral of John the Baptist, it became obvious something was going on, a crowd had gathered around the church and there was the familiar flash of red and blue lights from the top of two police cars parked at the curb. Dean drove slowly by, police tape was in place around the church steps, holding back the curious onlookers he kept driving around the corner and parked the Impala close by, they walked back to the church and nudged their way to the front of the crowd. At the top of the stone steps two men exited the church, one a plain clothed detective the brothers knew the look, he was talking with the other man, elderly, balding obviously the parish priest Father Harper, he was dressed in the traditional black priests robes and clerical collar, the detective was asking the priest questions and scribbling his answers in a note book similar to the ones they had in their pockets. Two uniformed officers were finishing up taking measurements and photos of a dark pool of dried foot wide congealing blood trailing from half way down the steps ending at the bottom. Someone had died here there was no way a human could lose that much blood and survive.

The brothers looked at each other they knew what each other were thinking Louis Archer's spirit had claimed another victim this one the second in this 29 year cycle and on the steps of the Archer family's chosen place of worship.

Sam thought it could have been Dean, if he had of been out on the streets of Savannah last evening and although he was sorry someone else had died he was relieved that someone was not his big brother.

Sam turned to the plump lady beside him, obviously on a get fit campaign dressed in sweats and runners and carrying a water bottle sidetracked from her walk by the murder scene on the church steps, he asked her, "What happened?"

"A man was stabbed to death on the church steps last night; they took his body away a few minutes ago."

"Did they catch the guy who did it?" Dean asked her.

She shook her head sadly, her long ponytail swishing from side to side. "No he was long gone; it's the second stabbing this week, people are getting really afraid to go out at night."

Sam and Dean exchanged another look, both thinking that she had nothing to fear, but the twenty something year old men of Savannah had good reason to be afraid they pushed their way to the back of the crowd and when they were out of ear shot of the gawking crowd, Dean said. "Looks like Louis Archer found another James to slaughter; talking to the priest is out of the question today."

In his minds eye Sam saw Dean lying cold and lifeless, his blood congealing on the stone steps; the thought sent an involuntary shiver down Sam's spine. "Looks like, so what do you wanna do now?"

"We'll go and pay Matthew Archer a visit."

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After parking the Impala alongside at the curb next to the white picket fence surrounding the Archer Mansion, Sam and Dean stood looking at the very impressive Archer Mansion; it was a typical southern plantation style home, everything was bright, blinding white, half a dozen thick grooved pillars running from the ground level connecting the upper level, continuing on to the roof which was tiled in you guessed it, white, multiple brick chimney's also white rose from the roof, a deep veranda ran the length of the front of house on both levels, the upper level surrounded by a low white wrought iron balustrade. Large windows faced the street, while tall doors lead to the rooms on the upper level. The garden was beautifully manicured and immaculate; azaleas' in a dozen different colors and already in full bloom ran around and down each side of the house and lined the path leading to the front door. Off to one side in the neatly trimmed lawn a very old very large weeping willow stood tall and proud, it partially hid the house from the street, it's wispy limbs growing at all angles still somehow it managed to look like it belonged in the immaculately groomed garden.

Dean pushed the gate open and they walked up the colorfully lined path, Sam was glad he'd been able to talk Dean into wearing a suit and tie, at least now they looked the part, they climbed the three steps onto the ground floor veranda and walked up to the large white front door decorated with a large ornate brass knocker, just for show because there was a button on the left door jam, Sam pressed the button, they heard the deep ring echoing through the depths of the house.

Dean was fidgeting, pushing a finger into his collar and pulling the stiffened material away from his throat. "Leave it alone."

Dean shot Sam an angry look his green eyes spitting fire. "I can't help it this thing itches." Dean scratched at his neck leaving behind red furrows before continuing, "I don't see why we had to wear monkey su-"

The last word was cut off as the door moved inward, revealing a very thin fortyish African American woman, with a close cropped afro hairdo, she was wearing a white button down uniform, sensible shoes and a black apron tied around her thin waist.

She looked from one brother to the other before addressing them. "Yahs?"

Over her shoulder, Dean could see a wide hall with two closed doors on each side, at the end of the hall a wide carpeted staircase ascended to the floor above; there was another door on the right side of the staircase propped open to reveal glimpses of what looked from this distance to be a stainless steel kitchen appliances.

"Good morning, we'd like to speak with Mr. Matthew Archer." Sam said smiling, using the patented Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes.

"Mr. Archer is not taking any callers this mawning." With that she began to close the door.

Sam's puppy dog eyes had failed miserably, time for older brother to step in, literally.

Dean stepped forward placing the palm of his hand against the door preventing her from closing it any further. He smiled his lady killer smile before saying. "We've come all the way from New York, please if we could just have a few words with Mr. Archer."

Dean didn't know whether it was the smile or the pleading words that made her stop pushing the door and open it up again she looked at Dean, she searched his face with a look Dean couldn't quite put a handle on, recognition maybe.

While she was staring at Dean over her shoulder Sam saw a door on the left of the hall open and a man emerged he stood in the doorway looking towards the front door, he was holding some papers in his hand. "Hettie who is it?" He asked.

"Two gentlemen a wishin' to talk to you Mr. Archer." She said glancing back over her shoulder at the man.

"Sir if we could have a few minutes of your time?" Sam said pressing forward into the doorway beside his brother.

Matthew Archer was silent as he took in the two suited and very tall young men standing at his front door. He hesitated only for a brief moment before saying. "Alright come on in to my study."

With another side long look at Dean Hettie stood aside allowing them to enter.

Matthew Archer continued to watch the men as they crossed the hall towards him; he turned and went back into the room he exited earlier.

The brothers entered the room to find Archer already seated behind a large oak desk, a bankers table lamp positioned to project light onto the papers and documents strewn over the desk. The room was pleasant and had a warm feel to it. An open fire place with a laid fire in it waiting to be lit was to the right of the door, two, two-seater green leather lounges facing each other on the left and right of the fireplace, a low oak highly polished coffee table with some hard cover books and magazines piled neatly on top separated the lounges, two tall windows behind the desk displayed the row of azaleas' running down that side of the house and flooding the room with natural light.

"Please gentlemen take a seat." He indicated the leather bound also in green easy chairs placed opposite the desk.

Matthew Archer was 50 years old, a slender man of average height around 5feet 10 with a full head of light brown hair the odd strand of silver at his temples and forehead, his gray/green eyes accentuated his good looks, high cheekbones and full lips.

When they were seated Dean noticed that Archer was looking at him intently much the same way Hettie had looked at him at the front door. The intense scrutiny was making Dean uncomfortable. Archer must have seen Dean's discomfort; he said, "Excuse my staring but you remind me of someone," Before Dean could respond he added, "now what can I do for yar?"

It was Sam who answered. "I'm Sam Winton and this is my colleague Dean Chester we're journalists for Family Heritage Magazine, we're here to do a piece on prominent Savannah families that have influenced and shaped Savannah's history, we were hoping we might be able to interview you for our story."

"We know the Archer family has a long proud history in Savannah." Dean added.

Archer was looking at Dean again, "Family Heritage Magazine, I've never heard of it?" The southern accent was full of question.

"It's new published in New York, this is our first issue, we really need your story to kick things off, you know to catch the readers' interest?" Dean said in what he hoped was an enthusiastic tone of voice.

"What makes you think readers would be interested in my family heritage?" Another question.

"Sir your family is legendary in the south; we would like all of the US to know the Archer Family." Sam said, he sounded convincing even to Dean.

Archer was looking at Sam now; he seemed to be weighing up whether to agree to their request. A moment later he had made his decision. "All right, but this may take awhile; I'll get Hettie to make some tea," as he rose from the desk he indicated the lounges by the fireplace, "We'll do this by the fire we'll be more comfortable there." Sam and Dean got up and went to the lounges as Archer went into the hall; they heard him calling out to Hettie to make some tea, a minute later he was sitting opposite them. "So gentlemen where should I begin?"

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An hour later they had choked down some tea and devoured a plate of small home made cakes, Dean ate most of them. When Hettie had brought the tea and cakes Matthew had told the brothers that Hettie's great grandfather had worked for Louis Archer and there had been a member of Hettie's family on staff at the Archer Mansion ever since.

Matthew had gone through the family history, with both Dean and Sam scribbling in their note books. Sam looked at Dean's note book, Dean was not actually writing anything he was doodling and drawing funny little pictures across the pages. Most of the details they already knew, when he come to the present and the end of the Archer family history to date. Sam wanted to get back to the real reason they were here, Louis murdering James, which Matthew had somewhat skipped over only touching on the subject briefly, Sam asked, "Why do you think your great grandfather Louis killed your great uncle? I mean you must have an idea why he did it?"

Matthew let out a short laugh before saying, "You think I'm gonna let you all put it in print and air my families dirty laundry to all of America?"

"What if you tell us confidentially, off the record and we promise not to put it in print?" Dean asked hopefully.

Archer was giving him that look again, at times during the interview Dean had caught Matthew looking at him with that strange look the same one he had given him when they'd arrived.

The silence stretched out as Archer continued to stare at Dean, a myriad of different expressions crossed his face as he weighted up his decision to tell or not to tell. Archer's eyes slid from Dean to Sam and back again, he said. "How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't but I can tell you that Sam and I have never broken a confidence to anyone, you have my word." Matthew could hear the truth in Dean's words and could see the truth in his green eyes.

Archer sighed and said. "Strictly confidential off the record, not one word of this is to be printed; do I have your word also?" His gray/green eyes were now pinned on Sam's blue/green ones as he waited for his response.

Sam nodded. "You do."

"Alright then, but… before I tell you I want to show you something."

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Matthew lead them to the top of the staircase, there was a gallery opposite the staircase, running the full width of the house with a long narrow window at each end facing out onto the sides of the house, the gallery extended back towards the front of the house on both sides of the Mahogany balustrades surrounding the top of the staircase making a kind of inverted U shape. A door was on each side of the protruding ends of the gallery and more doors were spaced along the length of the longer length of the gallery, the rooms on that side would overlook the back garden, the rooms on the other side would be larger, probably master bedrooms and they would have the doors leading onto the veranda running along the upper floor that they had seen from the street. Along the gallery there were paintings all with ornate gold frames.

Matthew started to walk slowly along the gallery, speaking for the first time since they had left his study.

"This as you can see is the family gallery, all the Archer men sit for a portrait," he stopped in front of the first portrait, "that's my son David, painted before he left last year," he continued on to the next painting, "that's me, when I was thirty." They moved slowly from one family portrait to the next the age of the portraits given away by the changing fashions, all the male subjects had a definite Archer family resemblance about them.

The brothers tried their hardest to look interested, after all they were supposed to be journalists researching the Archer family history, but both were wishing for Matthew to get to what the hell it was that he wanted to show them.

The second last painting was larger than the others as it had two subjects. Matthew stopped next to it and gestured to the painting. "This is my grand father Richard and his brother James my great uncle."

Now they could see the reason why Matthew had wanted them to see this, the young man on the left looked a lot like Matthew, the same gray/green eyes and light brown hair although the hairstyle spoke of a bygone time, the young man on the right of the portrait was also an Archer but the eyes that looked out at them were sparkling green; his smile looked tense, false, put on for the benefit of the artist, there was sadness written on the handsome face even though he had tried to conceal it with an attempted smile.

The brothers continued to stare at the portrait, both speechless, Dean failed to hear Matthew's next words so intent was he on the portrait and the sudden buzzing in his ears was loud drowning out all else. It was like looking into a mirror his own face smiled sadly at him from the gold framed portrait; James Archer was the spitting image of him they could easily be twins, except for the fact that James was 87 years older than him and would be the grand old age of 116 if he was alive today.

Dean didn't know how long he stood there staring at his own reflection the next thing he was aware of was Sam, he had a hand on his shoulder kneading it gently trying to get Dean's attention and he was asking if he was alright.

As they had looked at the painting in stunned silence out the corner of his eye Sam had seen Dean sway, he turned to Dean who appeared to be in a trance, he squeezed Dean's shoulder gently, saying. "Dean are you alright?" then added, "You're a white a sheet."

Dean finally looked away from the painting to Sam; he blinked a couple of times before answering. "Yeah Sammy I'm good."

Matthew was speaking to Dean, "Now you see why I was looking strangely at you before, you're the spitting image of my great uncle James." He looked back to the painting, before adding, "This was painted just after James' 29th birthday a few weeks before he was killed."

Dean was looking at James again, the funny looks he had gotten from Hettie and Matthew made sense they saw his striking resemblance to the portrait, Sam's comments from the evening before about the similarities between Dean and James came back to him, they shared the same birth date, James was 29 when he was murdered, Dean is 29 now they were the exact image of each other Louis Archers spirit was currently haunting the streets of Savannah looking for James. He had more in common with James than any of the other victims, _Sam's right his freaky resemblance to James Archer put him on top of Louis Archers spirits hit list._

Deep in thought Dean didn't see Matthew and Sam move on to the last portrait in the gallery, once again it was Sam's voice that brought Dean back from his thoughts. "Dean?" It was just his name; but Dean heard the worry in the softly spoken word. Dean looked away from James and Richard to Sam and Matthew, Sam looked worried, Dean smiled hoping to alleviate Sam's worry. He moved then taking the few steps on suddenly shaky legs to stand beside Sam.

Matthew gestured to the final portrait, "This gentlemen is Louis Archer my great grandfather."

Dean looked up into the cold gray eyes of Louis Archer, there was no hint of softness in that face it was the face of hard man, a man incapable of compromise or change, Dean thought it weird that he could tell all that from looking at the mans painting, there was the familiar Archer looks Louis had passed his looks down to Richard although Richard's face had a softer kinder look, Dean failed to see much of Louis in James, James looked more sensitive, more malleable, softer, in personality and looks he took after his mother, something else he and James had in common, in looks Dean took after his mother and a lot of people that knew Dean and Sam's mother said he was like her in personality as well, Dean didn't really know if that were true, he had lost her at a young age.

Dean found himself speaking the words in his mind out loud. "A hard man."

Matthew glanced at Dean, "My grand father Richard told me, that yes he was, a man of no compromise, a god fearing man, he loved his sons but he was a tough father, my grandfather also told me he never got over the death of his wife Elise, he thought his father would have been a different man and a different father if Elise had lived after James' birth."

Sam spoke for the first time in what seemed like forever. "So he murdered James, but you haven't told us why."

"The night James was murdered, Louis found out something about James that made him take a knife from the kitchen and stab his son to death." He stopped whether it was for effect or because he didn't know how to put into words why his relative had committed such an act.

"What did he find out?" This again from Sam.

"He found out I don't know from whom or how that James was having an affair."

"I know it was the twenties but that's not a good enough reason to stab your son to death." Dean said, and then added, "The guy was young, single, sowing his wild oats, nothing unusual."

"No it's not unusual, but who he was having the affair with was." Matthew answered.

"And who was that?" Sam was impatient and wished Matthew would get to the point.

"It was a man, Eric Benoit, he was the same age as Richard, Eric and Richard were in the same year at school."

Sam and Dean looked at each other and said simultaneously. "Awkward."

Matthew continued. "Louis was a devout catholic, went to mass every Sunday, raised his sons the same way, when he found out he confronted James about it, he and James had an argument, I know this because Hettie's great grandfather Ebenezer was a house boy back then he heard the raised voices and, he overheard part of the argument, Louis said James was sinning against god and called him evil, apparently James and his father used to argue a lot, anyway James said he was in love with Eric and wasn't going stop seeing him and Louis threatened to cut him off and disown him, Ebenezer told my grandfather that he heard nothing else after that, except the slamming of James' bedroom door. Ebenezer retired to his room in the servant's quarters he had his once a month day off the next day and didn't come into the main house. Richard returned from a business trip very early the next day he'd traveled all through the night, he arrived before any of the staff were about, he found his father at the bottom of the stairs he was covered in blood not his own and the knife was beside him, his neck was broken, he also found James lying on his bed stabbed to death and his eyes had been cut out."

"Why did he cut out his eyes do you think?" This from Sam.

"I think at that stage madness had taken away reason, James was the image of his mother he had her green eyes, her features, her gentle nature, it seems Louis couldn't bear to look at his son's eyes so like his dead mother, so… I guess we'll never know the whole truth but I think finding out about James had sent Louis over the edge sent him mad, in his mind he was setting things right."

Fifteen minutes later they thanked Matthew for his time and promised to be in touch if they needed further information again promising that what he told them would go no further than them. Neither of them had mentioned that there had been another murder, that the spirit of great grandfather Louis had claimed another victim; he would most likely have kicked them out and told them where to shove their story for the fictitious magazine.

As they crossed the hall they found Hettie waiting by the front door holding it open for them, Sam went first smiling at Hettie as he passed, Dean did the same he smiled and thanked her for the delicious cakes, she surprised him by grabbing his hand and pressing something wrapped in a white cloth napkin into his hand, Dean looked down at the napkin in his hand and then back to Hettie's dark, rich brown eyes, "Just a little something for you Master James." She said.

"But I'm not…" Dean was going to say not James, but something about the way she was looking at him made him change his mind, instead he said, "Thanks Hettie." He didn't know what the hell he was thanking her for.

Dean hurried to catch up with Sam whose extra long legs had already carried him up the path, through the gate and onto the street.

When they were back inside the Impala, Sam saw the napkin in Dean's hand asking, "What's that?"

"I don't know, Hettie gave it to me, she called me Master James." Dean looked from the napkin to Sam.

Sam raised his eyebrows before saying, "Dude you're the spitting image of him, she probably thinks James has been reincarnated in you probably believes in witchcraft from her long lost African heritage."

"Yeah that freaked me out, wow he could have been me, or I could have been him, or something." Dean shook his head trying to dispel from his mind the image of himself staring back at him.

"I thought you were gonna faint."

"Sam girls faint, I do not faint."

"You don't?"

"I don't."

"What about the time in -" Dean interrupted him, quickly changing the subject.

"Sam you're right."

"I am? Right about what?" _Nicely done, Dean._

"James Archer and me the similarities between us are more than coincidence."

"You think?"

"I do."

"What'd she give you? Open it up." Sam leaned towards Dean in anticipation.

Dean hesitated, saying. "What if it's some Voodoo thing maybe she's put a curse on me?"

"I doubt it, come on open it already."

Dean reluctantly unfolded the napkin, inside there was no Voodoo charm or effigy of Dean with a pin protruding from it's head, it was a collection of small cakes like the ones she'd served to them with the tea, the ones Dean had scoffed most of.

"Well look at that home made cakes, especially for me, she likes me." Dean said grinning at Sam.

"Dude is there anything of the female persuasion that doesn't?"

Dean pretended to look thoughtful; he tapped an index finger against his lips, "Let's see…. nope can't think of any thing."

"Wanna know one big difference between you and James?"

"What would that be…. wait, maybe I don't really wanna know?"

Sam ignored him, saying, "You're the most heterosexual man on the planet."

_**Archer Family Crypt - Colonial Park Cemetery**_

The Archer Family crypt wasn't hard to locate, it looked like a miniature version of the Archer mansion, made of white stone with the family name engraved above the double oak doors, a grooved pillar on either side of the doors, giving the impression of holding up the facade. The large carved ornate gold handles on the doors were tied together with a length of thick chain and a large padlock.

Both the brothers still had their suits on but had loosened their ties and undid the top button of their shirts, much to Dean's delight, suits were not the ideal outfit to be breaking into a crypt dressed in, but the suits looked less conspicuous than t-shirts, casual shirts and jeans, they looked like they could have been a mourner at the two funerals currently in progress in different parts of the cemetery.

Sam had a glance around before pulling out the large bolt cutters concealed underneath his jacket; he made short work of the padlock letting the chain fall to the ground. Dean pulled the doors open and stepped inside Sam close behind.

Light from the open doors flooded the interior of the crypt, there were no stone sarcophagi as they had expected. Running along each side there and along the back wall was a waist high stone shelf lined with ornately carved urns a brass plaque attached to the wall above each one; proclaiming the owner of the urns beneath, cobwebs long ago abandoned by their builders linked some of the urns by gossamer thin strands.

"I don't freakin' believe it, there's no bones to burn, they're all cremated, guess I should have known it couldn't be that easy." Dean's words were angry, but his tone was quiet, something about being in the crypt made him feel like he had to whisper.

"So how is Louis' spirit able to become corporeal and commit murder?" Sam asked in the same whispered quiet tones as he looked along the plaques stopping in front of the one marked as Louis Archers.

"Maybe there's some more of his remains someplace else, some hair, or a fingernail, blood or…."

Sam finished Dean's sentence. "His spirit is attached to something else a cursed object maybe, something that belonged to him, but what?"

Dean had stopped at James Archer's plaque; he was staring at the urn containing James' remains. Maybe James would send him the answer from beyond the grave, but there was no flash of light or a ghostly voice whispering in his ear, but suddenly a possible answer was there in his head so he transformed the thoughts into words. "Maybe it's the house?"

Sam turned away from Louis' plaque and looked at Dean. "Or the church?"

"Or here, the crypt?" Before continuing Dean rubbed his fingertips over his forehead, a sure sign he was frustrated, "Maybe it's the places themselves, Louis built and lived in the house, murdered James there, died there, married and worshipped in the church along with Richard and James, Louis', Richard's and James's remains lie here in the crypt, that's a connection, but there's something else, linking it all together, something that's binding Louis' spirit to the area between here, the house and the church, so every 29 years in March when Louis's spirit returns he only haunts the same streets, killing any one who he thinks is James."

"What ever it is that's binding Louis, we gotta find out what it is before Louis claims another victim." Sam didn't add before Dean becomes the next victim.

"Got any ideas college boy."

"Yep back to the library, see if we can dig anything else up" Sam tried to hide his smile when he saw the sour look on Dean's face.

Sam could hear the cogs turning in Dean's head he was trying to think of a reason to get out of going back to the library.

They left the damp, eerie crypt and stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine; they replaced the chain and put the broken padlock lock back in place you couldn't tell it wasn't locked until you pulled on it.

They were nearly back to the Impala when Dean stopped and snapped his fingers, Sam was waiting for it, _and here it comes, the excuse for no research. _"Sam I'll drop you back at the library and –"

"And what are you gonna do, huh?"

"I was just about to say I'll go back to the Archer Mansion, maybe the answers there?"

Sam had to admit it was a good idea, kill two birds with one stone it was quite possible the answer was in the house.

"Good thinking 99, but won't Matthew think it strange that you came back again so soon, what are you gonna say?" Sam said with a smile.

"I'll think of something." Dean smiled back; he hadn't realized yet he had been referred to a woman, however hot she was Sam knew Dean thought Barbara Felldon was hot, but Dean wouldn't appreciate the inference, his green eyes were sparkling while he dug the car keys out of his pocket as they neared the car.

Dean was thinking he'd pulled one over on his smart ass college boy little brother, he looked at Sam's smiling, noted the funny smug kinda look in his blue/green eyes, at the same time Sam was thinking they had both gotten what they wanted, he got to go to the library and Dean got to do something else, other than go to the library.

**TBC**

**So now you now know why it's called **_**SPITTING IMAGE.**_

**Please leave a review and let me know your thoughts, all reviews are greatly appreciated, even though I can't answer them.**


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER:

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_heavy sigh!)

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

Thanks for all the reviews on chapter 2 and all the story alerts, its good to know so many of you are reading, and waiting for the next chapter, so here it is.

**Chapter 3**

_**Savannah Georgia – March 2008**_

Dean found a camera gathering dust in the bottom of the Impalas trunk, it was old but professional looking, it had been their fathers, and had been rarely used. Dean was going to use it as an excuse to go back to the Archer Mansion to see Matthew Archer, to take some pictures for the article and ask more questions, after Dean had dropped Sam at the library, Sam had spent the rest of the afternoon there, sorting through everything he could find on the Archers, the church even the Benoit family, he was looking for anything that could link the pieces of puzzle together. Of course there was the obvious links, but there was something they were missing, as Sam waded through the pile of written matter in front of him, he was waiting for the answer to jump off the page and hit him in the eye, no such luck. He became more frustrated with every page he turned, he was not a lot wiser and his eyesight was blurring, when his cell phone started to vibrate in his pocket, Sam had switched it to vibrate when he had entered the library after seeing the sign saying: _**ALL CELL PHONES TO BE SWITCHED OFF WHILST IN THE LIBRARY. **_He glanced at his watch ten after six, his stomach did a somersault, why hadn't he noticed the time, it would be dark soon and Dean was alone, alone in Savannah with James Archer's face and in danger from Louis' vengeful, lunatic, extremely pissed off spirit. He heeded the persistent vibration pulling the phone from his pocket and answering it quickly.

"Hey Dean you alright, where are you?" Sam said quietly and a little breathlessly, not wanting to attract the attention of the librarian Dean had nick-named Dracula, Sam could see why.

"I'm fine and I'm sitting outside the Archer Mansion talking to you, what's with the questions dude, find anything?" Dean's tinny and surprised voice replied to Sam's mini inquisition.

"Nothing much a few minor details." Sam answered before continuing, "What about you, what did you tell Matthew?"

"Asked him could I take some photos for the article and for a bit more information on the business side of things, thought he might open up on some other things as well, met his wife as well, nice lady."

"Did he tell you anything interesting?"

"Oh yeah, now I know all about the current trends in the real estate market in Savannah, did mange to get a few things out of Hettie though."

"Hettie? Bout what?"

"Her great grandfather, Ebenezer."

"What about him?"

"He overheard the argument between Louis and James the night James was murdered, thought maybe he knew a bit more than Matthew realized or that grand father Richard had told him."

"So you think maybe what he saw and what he heard was passed down through the family to Hettie?"

"Yeah, exactly."

"And did Hettie know anything more?"

"Seems Ebenezer heard more of the argument between James and Louis than he told Richard, when Louis threatened to cut James off, James said and he would leave the house, that he didn't need Louis' name or his money and his father would never see him again."

"So James was going to leave to be with Eric and all of Savannah would find out what he'd been hiding?"

"Turns out Ebenezer was with Richard when they found James' body, apparently he had started packing his belongings into a suitcase, Louis knew that if James did go, the whole of Savannah would know that James had left home to be with a man and it would bring shame and disgrace to the family, since Louis had spent his whole life building the family name and good reputation, this would ruin Louis' standing with the Savannah community, the upper crust and the Catholic church would probably ostracize him and his family, you know how they felt about homosexuality back then."

"So there's plenty of motive for James' murder, but it doesn't help with what is binding Louis' spirit to that area of Savannah."

"Tomorrow we'll talk to the priest, maybe there's something in the church that will give us some clue, perhaps there's something of Louis' there?"

"Sounds like a plan, pick me up and let's go get some dinner, I'm starving."

"Now you're talking, be out front in ten."

-- SI --

_**Thunderbird Inn – (Early the Next Morning)**_

Dean didn't know what had woken him, he fumbled for his watch on the bedside table peering at the luminous dial 1.20am he'd only been in bed for two hours, why had he woken?

Gentle snores from the direction of Sam's bed reached his ears; Dean looked towards where he knew Sam's bed was, in the darkness of the room he could just make out his long little brother lying there, comforter bunched up on his chest arms and legs at all angles, one long arm hanging over the side of the bed knuckles brushing the carpet. _At least Sam's sleepin'._

Dean sighed rolled onto his stomach and pushed his hand under the pillow feeling for the hilt of his knife. _Now I'll go back to sleep._

A few minutes of listening to Sam's snores and Dean knew it wasn't gonna happen. _Maybe I should take a leak, maybe that's the problem?_

He threw back the comforter and rose from the bed padding silently across the floor on bare feet, reaching the door he fumbled for the door handle in the dark and unfamiliar room, finally locating the handle he twisted the knob and pushed the door open and stopped dead inside the bathroom door as bright light assaulted his eyes.

He put up his hand to shield his eyes, "What the hell?" As his eyes began to adjust to the light he realized he was not in the motel bathroom, "Whoa Dean this is some freaky ass dream," then added to himself, "Time to wake up."

In front of him there was no shower recess, ceramic basin or pastel green tiles, his arm fell back to his side as he gaped open-mouthed at the hallway of the Archer Mansion, he pivoted turning 180 degrees, expecting to see the motel bedroom and Sam lying in a tangle of long limbs and bedclothes, but there was no Sam and no bedroom he was looking at the closed white wood-paneled front door.

As he was standing staring dumfounded at the paneling a voice rang out a voice heavily accented with the south. "James we have to talk." Dean turned back to the hall and the commanding voice.

Standing in the doorway of the last room on the right at the end of the hall was Louis Archer. "What?" Dean wasn't sure he was seeing or hearing correctly.

"We need to talk." Louis repeated.

Dean took a hesitant step forward and heard the tap of a heel on the highly polished wood floor. Bare feet don't make that noise. He looked down the length of his body to his feet, gone were the grey sweat pants he was wearing when he had climbed out of bed, in their place were black suit pants with a knife edged crease running down the front meeting the pointy shiny black leather shoes peeking out from the bottom, his eyes lifted back up to the starched white shirt and black tuxedo jacket, the cuffs of the white shirt were held in place by large square cufflinks, ebony with a wide gold edge.

Louis' loud and angry voice made him flinch in surprise. "Are you hearin' me?"

Unconsciously his feet carried him slowly down the hall, retracing the steps James had taken on that March night 87 years ago, steps towards his imminent death.

He stopped in front of Louis who had moved into the hallway and was standing at the base of the staircase.

Dean returned the furious, cold, hard stare from Louis' grey eyes. "I don't understand this can't be happening, I'm not J-" Dean stopped speaking when he realized his voice sounded strange it was loaded with a southern accent, James' accent, James' voice. _Man this is weird._

"You will understand and this is happening," Louis yelled, "I know what you are what you've been doing, what you have become."

Dean didn't know what to say, "But I …" He began, but before he could continue, Louis started in on another tirade.

"Don't you dare say its love, how can you call that love, it's against God and nature that's not the way God intended men to love, its evil an abomination. Thank God your mother is not alive to see what you have become; it would break her heart as you have broken mine."

Dean was stunned those were probably the words Louis had said to James on that night. Now they were being repeated; Dean knew where this was heading so he tried to reason with Louis, until he could figure out how the hell he'd gotten here in the past and how to get back to 2008, Sam and the motel. "Stop and think about what you are about to say it will only bring disaster."

Louis didn't seem to be hearing what Dean was saying, he was hearing something else, words that had been said in 1921. "You are my son, this is my home you will do as I say, or suffer the consequences, James if you continue with this nonsense, then I will no longer call you my son, I will disinherit you, you will get nothing from me; I will never speak your name again, do you understand me?"

"You're making a mistake." Dean said in James' voice.

Louis stepped forward and grasped his upper arms, he was a head shorter than Dean, so consequently he had to look up into his face, Louis squeezed his biceps tightly, his anger giving him more strength than a man of his age and stature should possess. Louis started to shake Dean, causing Dean's head to snap back and forth and his teeth to clash together. "No James you are making a mistake, throwing your life away because of your misguided feelings for a man."

The whiplash movement was making Dean nauseous and dizzy, yet he could not seem to defend himself to push or shrug Louis' maniacal grip from his arms, he closed his eyes hoping to dispel the dizziness. Louis' voice faded into the buzzing of a thousand angry bees. Then as soon as it started the buzzing was gone, replaced by a soothing voice with no trace of a southern accent, the voice was accompanied by more shaking but this was gentle not violent and angry and not causing his head to whip back and forth. Dean focused on the voice to what it was saying.

"Dean, Dean wake up man, you're sleepwalking." _That's Sammy's voice._

Slowly Dean opened his eyes; the nausea had eased down to an acceptable level. In front of him were multiple Sam's an identical look of concern on their faces and worry in their blue/green eyes.

The multiple Sam's converged into one. "Sammy? I'm back." Sam's concerned look turned to one of puzzlement.

"Back? Back from where? You were sleepwalking, dude."

"Sleepwalking? I don't sleepwalk; I was going to take a leak, I …." Dean looked around he was standing just inside the bathroom door; Sam was in front of him. He glanced down at his legs, gone was the black tuxedo, shiny shoes, starched white shirt and ebony and gold cufflinks his grey sweat pants were back his feet and chest were bare. The dream or vision whatever it was lingered at the fore front of his memory. _If I close my eyes will I be back in 1921 again. _

Not willing to take the risk he looked back to Sam who still had one hand on Dean's upper arm, gently he started to steer Dean back towards the bedroom, saying. "Let's get you back to bed."

Dean let Sam lead him meekly to his bed; Dean flopped down on the side scrubbing a hand across his face to clear the remnants of the dream vision what ever the hell it was, noting that his hand trembled just a little. _Hope Sam didn't see that. _"Man I had the weirdest dream; at least I think it was a dream."

Sam sat down on his bed opposite Dean; he reached over and turned on bedside lamp, the 40 watt globe throwing a dim light over the brothers. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"

"I'm not sure I can explain it, man it felt so real, like it was really happening." Dean was finding the carpet in between his bare feet very interesting.

"Was it something to do with this case?"

"Oh yeah."

"It might be important, tell me and we'll try and sort it out."

Dean looked up at Sam for the first time since after he'd led him out of the bathroom; Sam saw a look of embarrassment on his face. "You'll think its weird, I know I do.

"I'm not a stranger to this sort of weird, Dean, and neither are you, you're my brother, I always trusted you enough to tell you about my visions, you never laughed and made light of anything I told you, surely you know you can count on me to do the same for you."

"I know you will, Sammy."

"So what's the problem? Tell me."

"It was kinda like a vision, but not of something that is gonna happen, it was a vision of something that has already happened."

"But that's not a vision, that's just memory, remembering something that happened."

"It's not remembering if what I saw happened a long time ago and not to me, well kinda not to me."

Sam looked confused. "What do you mean? You're not making any sense, dude."

Dean put up his hands palms up. "See I told you, you'd think it was weird."

Sam rolled his eyes skywards and leaned forward, closing the gap between them. "Tell me."

"Alright alright, it was …. I saw the argument between Louis and James that led to James' murder."

"Maybe it was because you spoke to Hettie? You probably had what she told you on your mind and it came out like that when you went to bed?"

Dean shook his head. "No it wasn't that, it was a replay of what happened, the argument, almost word for word."

"You're telling me you know word for word what James and Louis argued about that night 87 years ago?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yes that's what I said."

"But how could you?"

Now Dean leaned forward, mimicking Sam bringing their noses only inches apart. "Because I was James."

Sam pulled his head back, surprised; they were now opposite Dean leaning forward and Sam sitting upright. "You were James?"

"There's that echo again."

"You were James?" Sam repeated.

"It was like I was transported back to 1921, I was in James, I saw through James eyes, **I... WAS… JAMES**." Dean said it slowly for Sam's benefit as he seemed to be having trouble understanding what was being said. Sam sat there open-mouthed, didn't look like he was planning on saying anything any time soon, so Dean keep going, "I mean I was me, but, I was in James' body, James' clothes, I even had James' voice, we were in the hallway of the Archer Mansion, at the bottom of the staircase. I heard just about everything Louis said to James that night, leading up to Louis stabbing James to death, man, Louis he was he pissed, nothing James said would have made any difference, then Louis started shaking James, I mean me, I kinda zoned out and the next thing it was you shaking me, I was me again and I was back here." Dean glanced around the room and then his eyes settled again on Sam before he added, "It was like James was using my body to show me something."

Sam remained open-mouthed and silent. "Close your mouth Sam I can see your tonsils." Sam closed his mouth with an audible click of his teeth.

-- SI --

Sam had woken to Dean's voice, at first Sam thought he was talking in his sleep, Dean did that sometimes, especially since dad died. Strange thing was the voice didn't seem to be coming from Dean's bed it was coming from the direction of the bathroom; it was almost pitch black in the room, but the light coming through the bathroom window from the motel parking lot, highlighted Dean standing with his back to Sam ramrod straight inside the bathroom door. "Dean what's wrong?" He said to Dean's bare back. There was no response, that's when Sam realized Dean wasn't awake and wasn't aware of what he was doing.

Sam disentangled himself from the comforter and went into the bathroom, he moved past Dean to stand in front of him, his brother was pale, his eyes were open but he wasn't seeing anything in front of him including Sam and his lips were slightly parted.

Sam knew it could be dangerous to wake a sleepwalker too quickly so he softly said. "Dean, you with me?"

Dean's vacant stare didn't alter, but he spoke. "You're making a mistake." His usual deep voice sounded different, like someone else's, like many of the voices he'd heard since they'd been in Savannah, laced with a southern accent.

This was getting too weird; Sam had to wake Dean up. He took hold of Dean's upper arms and gently shook him hoping to bring him out of this strange trance like state. Nothing happened for a few seconds then Dean's unfocused eyes closed; Sam continued the gentle shaking saying. "Dean, Dean wake up man, you're sleepwalking."

Dean remained that way for a few seconds then his eyes fluttered opened again and focused on Sam's face. "Sammy I'm back." He sounded relieved and surprised at the same time.

"Back? Back from where? You were sleepwalking, dude." Sam was concerned that he'd woken Dean too quickly.

"Sleepwalking? I don't sleepwalk; I was going to take a leak, I …." Dean looked around, Sam saw recognition in his eyes as he noted where he was standing, and then he glanced back at Sam and then looked down his body to his bare feet before once again looking at Sam the remnants of the sleepwalking dream still written on his face.

Sam used the hand he still had on Dean's upper arm to turn him and gently lead him towards the bedroom at the same time saying. "Let's get you back to bed."

Dean put up no resistance and slumped onto the side of the bed, rubbing a hand across his face, the hand trembled ever so slightly indicating to Sam how much Dean was affected by the dream and being woken to find himself in the bathroom. "Man I had the weirdest dream; at least I think it was a dream."

Sam sat down on his bed opposite Dean; He needed to see Dean's face so he reached over and turned on the lamp on the bedside table, the dim light didn't brighten the room much but it was enough for Sam to see his brothers pale face. "Do you wanna tell me about it?"

"I'm not sure I can explain it, man it felt so real, like it was really happening." Dean still hadn't looked at him since he'd sat on the bed; he was examining the carpet in between his feet.

"Was it something to do with this case?"

"Oh yeah." Dean nodded.

"It might be important, tell me and we'll try and sort it out." Sam had to find a way to make Dean open up and tell him about the sleepwalking dream.

Sam was relieved when Dean finally looked up at him. Sam saw a look of embarrassment on his face. "You'll think its weird, I know I do." Dean said quietly.

"I'm not a stranger to this sort of weird, Dean, and neither are you, you're my brother, I always trusted you enough to tell you about my visions, you never laughed and made light of anything I told you, surely you know you can count on me to do the same for you."

Dean looked a little shocked that Sam thought he didn't trust him enough to tell him about the dream. "I know you will, Sammy, it's not that."

"So what is it? Tell me."

"It was kinda like a vision, but not of something that is gonna happen, it was a vision of something that has already happened."

_Is that all it was._ "But that's not a vision, that's just memory, remembering something that happened."

"It's not remembering if what I saw happened a long time ago and not to me, well kinda not to me."

Sam looked confused. "What do you mean? You're not making any sense, dude."

Dean put up his hands palms up. "See I told you, you'd think it was weird."

Sam rolled his eyes skywards and leaned forward, closing the gap between them. "Tell me."

"Alright alright, it was …. I saw the argument between Louis and James that led to James' murder."

Sam didn't think this was strange, seeing as Dean had found out more details of why Louis had murdered James; it was probably on his mind when he had gone to bed. Sam said as much. "Maybe it was because you spoke to Hettie? You probably had what she told you on your mind and it came out like that when you went to bed?"

Dean shook his head but didn't look away. "No it wasn't that, it was a replay of what happened, the argument, almost word for word."

Sam was starting to think Dean was right, it was a little weird. Dean was looking intently at Sam waiting to see what his reaction to that tidbit would be. "You're telling me you know word for word what James and Louis argued about that night 87 years ago?" Sam couldn't keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Is there an echo in here? Yes that's what I said." Dean answered.

"But how could you?"

Now Dean leaned forward, mimicking Sam bringing their noses only inches apart. "Because I was James."

Sam pulled his head back in surprise; they had changed positions Dean now leaning forward and Sam sitting upright. "You were James?"

"There's that echo again."

"You were James?" Sam repeated, still having trouble believing what Dean was saying.

"It was like I was transported back to 1921, I was in James, I saw through James eyes, **I... WAS… JAMES**." Dean said it slowly like he was talking to a child. Sam sat there open-mouthed not knowing how to respond. Dean continued, "I mean I was me, but, I was in James' body, James' clothes, I even had James' voice, we were in the hallway of the Archer Mansion, at the bottom of the staircase. I heard just about everything Louis said to James that night, leading up to Louis stabbing James to death, man, Louis he was he pissed, nothing James said would have made any difference, then Louis started shaking James, I mean me, I kinda zoned out and the next thing it was you shaking me, I was me again and I was back here." Dean glanced around the room and then his eyes settled again on Sam before adding, "It was like James was using my body to show me something."

Sam remained open-mouthed and silent, not knowing what to say. "Close your mouth Sam I can see your tonsils." Dean said with a half smile.

Sam snapped his jaws together. He knew Dean wasn't lying there was no reason for him too. Dean had a weird flashback vision; Sam was stunned; it was hard for him to comprehend. Of all the visions Sam had over the last couple of years he had never had one that was anything like this, all Sam's visions had been premonitions of things yet to happen, not things that had. Maybe Dean was right James is trying to communicate from beyond to show them or particularly Dean what had happened leading up to his murder. It was now more obvious than ever that Dean and James were more closely linked than just looks.

Dean was still leaning forward waiting for Sam to say something. "Do you think James was trying to show you what happened?"

Dean sat back before answering. "Yeah I do. I don't know how much more James would have shown me if you hadn't woken me up, I mean would I have seen the murder or been murdered?" Dean shivered, and then added, "This vision thing is too weird."

"Now you know how I felt when I was getting visions, although I never had a vision like yours." Sam said smiling.

"That makes me feel so much better, thanks for that." then as an after thought added, "Hey you don't think James will come back when I go to sleep, do you? You know like continue?"

"I dunno man, we'll have to wait 'til you fall asleep and see."

"Huh." Dean didn't think he would be spending a very restful night.

**TBC**

**So now the boys know what happened on the night James was murdered. **

**Please read and review, thanks.**


	4. Chapter 4

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_heavy sigh!)

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

_**I am not a very religious person and I know little about the Catholic Church, I am apologizing now if anyone is offended by my portrayal of Father Harper and the Catholic Church in general, I assure you no offense is intended and is only due to a lack of knowledge and only for the purpose of the story, after all it is only a story, right!**_

_**Thanks for all the reviews of chapter 3, and once again I apologize if I have not answered your reviews sometimes they come through to my inbox and sometimes they don't, I really appreciate your reviews and will answer all of the ones that come through. **_

_**Now on with chapter 4, a vital clue to this hunt is revealed in this chapter.**_

**Chapter 4**

_**Savannah Georgia – March 2008**_

It had taken the brothers awhile to drift back into a peaceful slumber, Dean restless as he was relived the weird ass dream and the things that James had shown him and wanted him to see for reasons that were still a mystery. In Dean's mind there was no doubt that James wanted to show him the events of that March night in 1921. Over and over he replayed the vision thing in his head trying to glean what it all meant and get some kind of clue to what it was James wanted him to see apart from the obvious. His body gave up followed closely by his brain telling him enough is enough I need sleep, by then physically and mentally exhausted he let him self be dragged down into restorative sleep.

Sam lay awake listening to Dean toss and turn, waiting for the change in his breathing that would indicate he had fallen asleep, a good while later when the tossing and turning ceased, came the change Sam had been waiting for, now Sam waited again, this time for Dean to start talking and maybe walking, for James to get back into Dean's head and show him the next installment of James' last minutes in this life on earth.

The sound of Dean's deep even breathing bought unbidden memories to Sam of when he was younger, if Sam had a nightmare or a disturbed night, he would come to Dean's bed usually in the same room. Dean would never turn him away and once Sam was nestled next to his big brother the comforting sound of Dean's breathing made him feel safe and secure and Sam would quickly go fall back into a peaceful sleep. Even now that Sam was an adult many years later listening to Dean's breathing close by still had the same effect, lulling Sam into a dreamless sleep.

-- SI --

Because of their disturbed night they slept later than they had intended, as yesterday they donned their suits, note books in their pockets. Today they would visit the Cathedral of John the Baptist and talk with Father Harper. They had a late breakfast at the diner down the street that served an all day breakfast. Dean had a huge plate full of sausage, bacon, fried eggs and a mountain of toast spread thickly with butter, when he had finished the only thing left on the plate was a lonely grilled tomato, because Dean doesn't do vegetables. Sam had a half stack of pancakes with maple syrup; they both had multiple cups of coffee.

Dean had picked up a newspaper from the stand out front, neither were surprised that the front page was full of the night before lasts murder, with a picture of the victim 27 year old Rafe Grayson who had the same green eyes, light brown hair and full lips as Dean and James but the similarities ended there. Rafe was not the spitting image of James as was Dean but he obviously looked close enough for Louis' spirit. The article said Rafe was to be married at the church on Saturday he was overdue at the church for his wedding rehearsal. His fiancée and best man were waiting inside, when he failed to show; they went outside and found him dead on the steps, stabbed to death and his eyes cut out just like the others. His fiancée Della collapsed and was taken to hospital suffering from shock.

Dean sighed, he was sad for Rafe and Della; they would never get to live their lives together, and sad that Rafe had to die to satisfy Louis' vengeful spirit's need for the redemption of his son. He and Sam hadn't figured this thing out before Rafe was murdered, but Dean was determined that no one else would die in Savannah, they would find a way to banish Louis' spirit.

Dean laid the paper down and drained his coffee spitting the gritty dregs back into the cup; he looked across the table at Sam sitting opposite him in the booth. Sam was shuffling through a wad of papers. "What you got there geek boy?" Dean asked using another of his many nicknames for his brother.

"Some stuff I got at the library." Sam picked up one of the pieces of paper and continued without even acknowledging the geek boy name, "Eric Benoit died six months after James was murdered, Eric was found floating in the Savannah River, no suspicious circumstances, they think he was drunk when he slipped and fell." Sam looked up from what he was reading at Dean.

"He jumped in the river because he couldn't live without James?" Dean questioned.

"Looks like."

Dean was silent for a few seconds before he quietly said. "So Eric really loved James." _And James felt the same way about Eric._

"The Benoit family still lives in Savannah, or what remains of them, Eric's older brother Elliot had a son Robert born in 1913, Robert was killed in 1944 during the Second World War aged 31, leaving behind a wife and 5 year old daughter named Jean, Jean never married and still lives in Savannah she is the last of the Benoits in Savannah."

"The Benoits and the Archers, both families have tragic histories one way and another." Sam nodded, but remained silent; thinking the Winchesters also had a tragic past. "What else you got?" Dean added.

"One more thing that might be important, Miss Jean Benoit is Father Rex Harper's housekeeper."

"How'd you find that out?"

"I have my sources."

"Sources, what sources?"

"I overheard a conversation in the library between two old biddies; apparently they're friends with Jean although you'd never know it from the way they were talking about her, with friends like them she wouldn't need enemies."

Dean could imagine Sam lurking behind the bookshelves so he could eavesdrop on the women's conversation. "So she's connected to Father Harper and the church and Father Harper and the church are connected to The Archer family and the latest murder, outstanding Sammy, I think we might be on to something. Let's pay a friendly visit to Father Harper." Dean looked at the check, stood up from the booth dug around in his suit pocket pulled out a couple of notes threw them on the table and headed for the door.

Sam hastily gathered his papers together drained the last of his cold coffee and followed Dean, determined not to let his brother out of his sight even in daylight.

-- SI --

_**Cathedral of John the Baptist Catholic Church**_

All sign of the congealed blood that had covered part of the steps the day before was gone; the police tape had been removed. They mounted the stone steps and walked up to the huge arched double wooden doors, Sam pushed on one of the doors and it opened with a forlorn sounding moan. There was an alcove inside the doors a font containing holy water on one side and a tiered bank of candles on the other a few of the candles were lit. Seemed like business as usual in the church after the drama of the morning before.

The church was very impressive high vaulted ceilings, arched stained glass windows set high up depicting scenes from the bible lined each wall, the late morning sun angled through the colorful glass windows on the right throwing patterns and rainbow colors across the pews and the people knelt there. Underneath the widows on the left was a gold filigree confessional box, tucked away on the left in the corner at the front was a door, probably leading to the rectory, on the right half way down was another door a smaller version of the front doors that must lead to the small graveyard on that side the church. At the front of the church four steps led up to the alter. Large golden candle sticks with long white candles were positioned on the alter cloth on either side of an ornate golden chalice. To the left of the alter was a raised pulpit where Father Harper gave mass, to the right a large urn filled with fresh flowers, the fragrance cloying and sickly sweet even in the large church. Directly behind the alter was a large wooden cross, it was of simple design and seemed out of place in the rich lavishness of the church. Behind the cross was another stained glass window this one depicting the crucifixion, the cross similar to the simple one in front of it standing at Jesus' feet.

They moved slowly and quietly down the outside of the aisle on the right a few people were dotted about clutching rosaries, heads bent low in prayer their quietly mumbled words reaching the brothers ears.

Dean's attention was caught by a glass display cabinet mounted on the wall below one of the stained glass windows; Dean stopped to see what was inside, a collection of daggers and knives. Most of the daggers and knives were quite ornate some of them had delicately curved silver blades and others were brass, some had jewel encrusted handles, or symbols carved into the handles. One of the knives was different from the rest it was a simple serrated knife with a wooden handle darkened with age, it seemed out place with the others in the case, much like the cross seemed out of place.

Sam had wandered further towards the front of the church, when he looked back and saw Dean examining the contents of the case he went back and peered over his shoulder. "Very impressive." Sam said as he scanned the collection.

"Are you collectors?" A voice behind them said. Neither had heard anyone approach they both started and turned quickly to face the owner of the voice. It was the tiny elderly balding priest they had seen talking to the detective outside the church yesterday a smile of greeting on his face as he waited for one of them to answer.

Sam didn't think the knives they had hidden on them or the ones stowed in the Impala counted as a collection. "No sir we were just admiring your collection."

He nodded then said. "I'm very proud of my collection some of them are donated but I usually pick one up when ever I travel on church business," He hesitated then said, "But you boys didn't come here to discuss my knife collection."

The brothers towered over the priest he was only around 5 feet 3 and looked to be in his eighties, a hearing aid was tucked behind each ear he looked from one to the other with intelligent rheumy blue eyes.

Dean held out his hand saying. "Father Harper right?" He took Dean's hand in a firm grip.

"What gave me away, it wouldn't have been the outfit would it?"

Dean smiled at the priest's humor. "I'm Dean Chester and this my college Sam Winton we're here to-"

He held up his hand in a stop gesture. "Before you go on I've told the detectives every thing I know."

Sam took a step forward. "No father we're not here from the police."

"You're reporters, aren't you? I have already stated I would not be talking to any reporters, so you might as well leave."

"We heard about the murder that happened outside, but we're not reporters, we're from Family Heritage Magazine we're doing a piece on the Archer Family."

"And this concerns me how?" The priest narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

"We were hoping to talk to you about the Archer Family."

"I'm sorry young man but I can't divulge any information about my parishioners, now if you'll excuse me?" Father Harper began to turn away.

"Father wait, we've spoken to Matthew Archer and he suggested we talk to you about his family's involvement and generosity to the church over the years." Sam said. Dean took a side long look at Sam; as he suspected Sam was using the puppy dog eyes.

Father Harper turned back and looked again at Sam; it seemed to Dean that the puppy dog eyes were working on the priest. "He did?"

"We interviewed him yesterday; he spoke very highly of you." Dean said with a smile.

Father Harper was giving him the same look he had gotten from Hettie and Matthew. "You remind me of someone but I can't think who it is." The Father said thoughtfully.

"I get that a lot." Dean replied just managing to not roll his eyes.

"Well alright come in to the rectory we'll talk in there."

Father Harper talked as they followed him across the front of the church and through the door on the left. "Such a sad business this murder I've had police detectives, investigators, reporters and all kind of ghoulish people hanging around all wanting a story or just nosy about poor Rafe, such a nice young man, he and Della made a lovely couple I've known them all their lives, I was going to marry them on Saturday, awful business, awful, so sad and pointless." For someone who didn't want to talk about Rafe Grayson's murder he sure said a lot.

Behind the door was a flagstone paved courtyard separating the church and the stone cottage that was the rectory where Father Harper lived, immediately to the left was a stone staircase. The stairs led down beside the wall of the church, at the bottom set into the foundations was a wooden door, leading underneath the church probably a storage area or basement of some kind. The top the steps were surrounded by a meter high wrought-iron fence for safety and a bolted gate for access to the steps and the basement below.

They crossed the 30 meter wide courtyard and entered the cottage a hall ran down the center of the cottage with rooms off both sides, the tiny priest opened the first door on the right and bade them to enter he closed the door after them.

This was The Fathers lounge/office; a desk to one side, on the wall behind the desk was a gold crucifix and on either side of the window that over-looked the side of the church was a picture of The Virgin Mary and one of Pope Benedict. The Father motioned for them to sit across the room on the old-fashioned over-stuffed lounge covered in fussy floral material; the Father seated himself in a matching wing-backed arm chair his feet dangled two inches off the floor. The chair was covered in the same material both the lounge and the chair looked as old as Father Harper who was well into his eighties.

"So what do you want to know?"

"The story we are doing will deal with the long history The Archers have in Savannah; Matthew told us about the business and other aspects of the family. We've heard of the family's generosity to the church and we would like to know in your words about that and anything else that you can tell us about the Archers relationship with the church in the last hundred years." Sam said as he dug his note book out of his pocket.

Father Harper gave a short laugh saying, "Well I don't go back quite that far, but I'll say this, son you should never ask an old man for a history lesson, you'll be here until midnight."

For fifteen minutes the tiny priest had talked about the Archer Family not really telling them a lot more than they already knew. All the Archers were married in the church all the Archers worshipped in the church Matthew and his wife Lilia came to Mass every Sunday, as had their son David until he moved away last year. The Father socialized with the Archers and was a frequent dinner guest at the Archer Mansion, "As a matter of fact I'm having dinner with Lilia and Matthew tomorrow night." Over the years the Archers have been one of the churches biggest benefactors with Richard, Edward and Matthew all donating money and various other artifacts of interest to the church, some of them religious and some of them not. Edward paid for a gas furnace to be put in the basement running a ducted heating system under the floor of the church. Father Harper pointed out that even though this is Savannah the old church with it's vaulted ceilings was drafty and cold in the winter and as he'd gotten older both he and his older parishioners appreciated the warm air circulating from the vents strategically placed around the floor in the church.

It was when Father Harper started digressing off the subject of the Archers; the brothers were both thinking the same thing, _time to go._ There was a knock on the door and it opened, the brothers looked over their shoulder to see a rather tall rotund figure wearing a simple print dress waddled in her iron grey hair that had once been black was scrapped harshly back from her face, the coke bottle glasses perched on her nose made her eyes look enormous. She didn't see Sam and Dean sitting on the lounge until she had advanced well into the room. Both brothers stood. That was when she saw them she stopped and said. "Pardon me I didn't know the father had-" She suddenly stopped speaking and was looking at Dean. _Here we go again._

Father Harper looked sideways at her, wondering why she had stopped speaking seeing the shocked look on her face he said. "Jean what is it, what's wrong?"

Her eyes finally left Dean and she looked at Father Harper. "I.… I came to tell you confession is in ten minutes."

So this was Jean Benoit and she had immediately seen Dean's uncanny likeness to her great uncle Eric's lover.

"I hadn't forgotten thank you Jean." She continued to stand there again staring openly at Dean, The Father frowned at her, puzzled by her odd behavior, he said, "What is it?"

Jean ignored him or either she didn't hear him, addressing Dean directly. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to stare it's just that you look like someone I knew of from a long time ago." She gave a weak smile.

Father Harper was still seated he looked up at Dean saying. "Funny but I thought I recognized you when I first saw you in the church." He looked again at Jean saying, "Who is it Jean who does he remind me of?"

Jean didn't answer but Dean did. "James Archer." He was looking at Jean as he said it.

Jean nodded took a deep breath before saying, "Yes James Archer, you're so much like him."

Dean smiled, "The spitting image you might say?"

Jean opened her mouth to say something, but Father Harper interrupted, pointing an index finger at Dean he said. "That's it Matthew's grandfathers brother, his portrait hangs in the gallery at the Archer mansion."

"We saw the portrait yesterday, when we interviewed Matthew." Sam said. He looked from Father Harper to Jean, both of whom were looking at Dean.

Dean had enough of the staring, returning The Fathers look he said. "I think we've taken up enough of your time Father, thank you." Dean held out his hand The Father wriggled to the edge of the chair and stood taking Dean's hand.

"Any time." He said.

Sam had also risen and did the same. "Jean will you show these gentlemen out? I must get ready for confession."

"Of course Father, gentlemen please follow me."

Jean led the way to the door preceding the brothers out; she gently closed the door behind her. They followed her down the hallway and back across the courtyard, she opened the door leading into the church and stood back saying, "I'm sure you can find your way from here gentlemen."

Dean stopped next to her saying. "Can I ask you something?" Without waiting for her to say yes or no Dean continued, "You've worked for Father Harper a long time haven't you?"

"Yes along time 31 years."

"I don't want to appear nosy but how did you know that I'm the dead ringer of James Archer?"

Jean's eyes darted around before settling back on Dean. "My great uncle Eric and James Archer were great friends when Eric died they found a photo of James in amongst his belongings my grandfather showed it to me when I was a girl."

"Why would Eric have a picture of James?" Dean knew the answer but he wanted to see if Jean did.

"Many years ago before I was born, The Archer Family and my family The Benoits were extremely close my grandfather Elliot and Eric were very close to James and Richard Archer, James was closer to Eric than his own brother, they were inseparable, but then everything changed when James was murdered the Archers and The Benoits had some sort of falling out I don't know what about the families have had nothing to do with each since."

Dean thought she knew the reason for the fall out but before he could ask her anything else the door to the cottage opened up and Father Harper hurried towards them, he started when he saw them and Jean standing there. "You're still here boys?"

"We were just chatting with Jean." Sam said.

Jean was again looking at Dean. He saw her mentally shake herself saying. "Father its time for confession."

"Yes yes of course it is."

Father Harper preceded them back through the door into the church.

He bid them farewell again and made his way to the confessional, there were a few people waiting. They thanked Jean who was lingering in the doorway throwing furtive glances at Dean. He and Sam made their way up the center aisle to the church entrance, when they reached the alcove Dean glanced back to see Jean standing by the door still watching him, Dean knew she watched him until the large wooden door closed behind him.

-- SI --

_**Thunderbird Inn – (Evening)**_

"God damn it we're getting no closer to an answer." Dean said in frustration as he ran a hand through his short hair.

Sam knew how Dean felt, he too was frustrated. They had been here all afternoon. Literally putting all the information they had gathered over the last three days on the table of the motel going over everything they knew trying to find the link binding Louis Archer's spirit. "The visit with the priest didn't reveal anything we didn't already know." Sam said as he looked at the notes he'd taken at the church, and then added, "There doesn't seem to be any connection there." Sam looked across the table at Dean. "What about Jean?"

"I don't think she's the connection, I think she knows the full story about the whole Eric and James thing but not a lot else." Dean answered.

"Hey Dean do you think Jean and Father Harper have a thing goin' on?"

Dean returned Sam's look, shocked that Sam would even consider such a thing. "You've got to be kiddin'; he's a man of the cloth and eighty four years old."

"Yeah sure he's a priest, but…. he's still a man with sexual desires and Jean's an eligible spinster also with sexual desires."

Dean thought about that for a minute then said. "Nah, I mean he's tiny and she's on the large side, It would be physically impossible…. wouldn't it?" He queried.

Sam laughed out loud. "Got you thinkin' didn't I?"

"That's so not funny Sam, now I have a mental image that's not gonna go away any time soon."

"Sorry bro, so… back to Louis Archers spirit, what's the answer, what's the link, what are we missing?" Sam was serious now and back to the business at hand.

"That's a lot of what's Sam."

_The answer?_ Dean had a nagging feeling he had the answer, that it was locked away somewhere in the back of his mind, all he needed was the key and he also felt that the key was here in front of him laid out on the table or hidden in the vision James had shown him. He got up from the table and paced across the room; he stopped at the window and pushed the curtain aside peering out into the night. "Hey how long has it been dark outside?"

"Couple of hours I guess it is after nine." Sam replied. He watched as Dean let the curtain fall back in place and went to the bed; he threw himself down on top of it with a sigh. Sam hadn't seen Dean this frustrated with a hunt for a long time, it probably had something to do with the whole looking like James the constant staring and the vision he'd had last night.

"What about if we call it a day, get a good night sleep and start fresh in the morning?"

"Yeah… maybe." Dean suddenly sat up and looked hopefully over at Sam still sitting at the paper strewn desk.

The look in Dean's eyes made Sam wary of the thoughts going through his mind. "What?"

"I've got a better idea."

"An idea, you're not getting sick are you?" Sam's voice was laced with a fake worry.

"Hilarious, I'm laughing on the inside." Dean said with a sneer.

Sam chuckled before saying, "Well do I get to hear this idea of yours or are you gonna keep it all to yourself?"

"Let's go get a drink, maybe shoot some pool, it'll do us good, help us to unwind a bit, whaddaya say?"

"I dunno Dean, I think we orta stay here."

"Why? Come on Sam one drink, you know you wanna."

Sam hesitated, before saying. "Okay one drink and one drink only."

Dean leapt off the bed grabbed his denim jacket and was out the door before Sam had a chance to stand up. In the short time it took Sam to retrieve his own jacket grab the room key and close the door behind him Dean had already disappeared down the stairs leading to the ground floor rooms and the motel parking lot. Sam hurried down the stairs expecting to see Dean already waiting in the Impala but Dean wasn't there, Sam looked around and found Dean he was striding across the parking lot towards the street.

Sam couldn't believe his eyes Dean hardly ever walked anywhere. Sam ran and caught up stepping into stride with Dean as he reached the sidewalk. "What the hell Dean you're walking."

"Yeah well aren't you the observant one."

"But Dean you never walk if you can ride in the car."

"No I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"So I felt like walking, you got a problem with me walking?" Dean gave Sam a side long look.

"No, no problem." Sam lied. He did have a problem. Louis Archer might be out and about tonight looking for James, and Dean is walking around with James' face. Sam considered this a major problem. He'd have to stick to him like glue keep him in sight at all times and pray that where they were headed was not in the area Louis was haunting and murdering.

They had no weapons on them apart from the knife each had sheathed and strapped to their forearm. They had no salt, the only thing they knew of at this stage that would send Louis packing even if only for a short while.

Sam moved closer to Dean, so close that their shoulders brushed with every second step they took.

Dean nudged Sam's shoulder with his own, saying. "Dude personal space, there's a whole sidewalk to walk on and you're almost on top of me."

Sam mumbled, "Sorry." Moving away from Dean a fraction.

But within ten strides he had moved in close again.

All his life Dean had been protecting Sam, always putting Sam above himself in so many ways. Now it was Sam's turn to return the favor and do the same for his brother.

**TBC**

**Some action coming up in the next chapter. I know you're all thinking **_**hurrah, it's about time.**_

**Did anybody pick up the vital clue the boys are looking for in this chapter? Please review and let me know your thoughts.**


	5. Chapter 5

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**STORY SUMMARY:**

**In Savannah Georgia, a pattern of murders is repeated every 29 years. Dean and Sam suspect a vengeful spirit is responsible. As they uncover the facts behind the spirits actions; it becomes clear that one of the brothers is destined to become the spirits next victim; will they be able to stop the cycle of death, before it's too late for one of the Winchester Brothers? **

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

Thanks for all the reviews and all of you who have put _**SPITTING IMAGE**_on story alert, and for all you **hurt Dean/protective Sam **fans you will get plenty of that starting from this chapter. **Enjoy.**

**Chapter 5**

_**The Savvy Bar and Bistro – Savannah Georgia**_

_**THE SAVVY BAR AND BISTRO**_ was jumpin', fairly typical of most bars in cities across the US on a Friday night; people were unwinding at the end of a typical working week.

The brothers turned heads as they pushed through the throng of people drinking, eating, joking and laughing. The females looked on in appreciation and the males in envy. Dean spotted the pool table in an alcove at the back away from the Friday night revelers.

"Order us a couple of beers and I don't know about you but I could go some fries; I'm going to shoot some pool." Dean said smiling and rubbing his hands together in glee.

Sam watched Dean saunter up to the two men who currently occupied the pool table. Dean spoke to the men motioning towards the table. The shorter of the two said something back to Dean. Dean smiled and reached into his pocket he slapped two notes on the edge of the table.

The men shared a knowing look smiled at each other and then at Dean and began to set up the table for a new game.

Sam thought Dean would be safe there until he pissed off the two by beating them and taking all their money.

Sam made his way to the bar, after a couple of minutes he caught the eye of the mutton dressed up as lamb bartender come bistro waitress, wearing so much make-up Sam figured at the end of the night she would need a hammer and chisel to remove it.

She smiled sweetly at him saying. "What can I get for ya' suga'?"

"Two beers and a serving of fries please." Sam returned her smile.

She took a pencil from behind her ear and scribbled on an order pad, she tore off part of it and gave it to Sam, saying "There's your number suga' it'll be about ten minutes." She got him the beers, Sam paid her, she winked at him and Sam was amazed she could manage that with so much mascara coated thick on her lashes. He made his way to the back of the bar luckily finding a recently vacated empty glass strewn table close to the pool table.

Sam observed that at the rate Dean was going he would be finished cleaning out the two men before the fries were ready. Sam could see the two were not happy, the shorter one's face was beetroot red and Sam could have sworn he saw a wisp of steam coming from his ears. The taller one was standing stock still with his mouth open and from the looks of things neither man had even gotten a shot yet, and there was their first mistake was letting Dean break.

Sam looked at the digital counter glowing red above the bistro showing number 57, his number was 64. Yep Dean would get cold beer and hot fries.

When his number came up Sam went back to the bistro, handed in his ticket in exchange for the fries, poured ketchup on the fries and sprinkled them liberally with salt, in the act of putting the shaker back amongst the half dozen sitting on the counter he hesitated scrutinizing the shaker like he was hoping to see the secrets of the universe reflected in the stainless steel after a quick glance around he put the shaker into his jacket pocket, _they won't miss it._ It might come in handy on the walk back to the motel. He took the fries back to the table and had just sat down when he saw Dean walking towards him looking extremely pleased with himself.

That was too easy Dean thought as he made his way towards where Sam had just sat down. Behind him the two men he had just given a pool lesson to were standing staring at his retreating back their minds still coming to terms with the fact that they had been beaten at a game of pool and had not even played a shot.

Dean slipped into the seat across from Sam and picked up a ketchup covered fry popping it into his mouth, washing it down with a pull on his beer. "Dude that was like taking candy from a baby." He said as he picked up another fry.

Sam couldn't keep the smile of his face, saying. "How much?"

"Three hundred and fifty bucks not bad for fifteen minutes work; I wish hunting was that easy."

"Yeah and paid as well."

"Drink up Sammy the next beer's on me." Dean said before taking another pull on the beer.

"Oh no Dean we had a deal, one beer and one beer only."

The grand total was five beers when they left the bar two to Sam and three to Dean. It was after 11 o'clock as they began the walk back to the motel.

The streets were pretty much deserted as they walked in silence, Sam again walking close to Dean surveying the shadows looking for signs of danger, or Louis Archer. Dean blissfully unaware of Sam's vigilance.

They were half way between the motel and the bar when a little way ahead a man was standing in the middle of the sidewalk in their path; Dean felt Sam stiffen beside him and wondered what about the man had set Sam on edge. The closer they got the more Dean became aware that he too had a bad feeling about the man.

As they got closer Dean realized that this was not a man this was Louis Archer's spirit and they were in big trouble. They stopped a few yards from Louis, who appeared to be floating above the ground, he was pale and surreal looking, there was something in his hand he was dressed as he was the night he murdered his son and fell down the stairs. He was staring at Dean.

Without taking his eyes off Louis, Dean said. "Err Sam is that who I think it is?"

"Uhuh, it is." Sam said.

"Holy crap, got any bright ideas college boy?"

Before Sam could answer, Louis spoke. "I've been waiting for you James."

In his peripheral vision, Dean saw Sam reach into his jacket pocket. What on earth did Sam have in his pocket to send Louis' lunatic spirit packing? "Dean I think we should-" Before he said another word Sam was hurled backwards out of sight.

In a split second, before Dean could turn his head to see the fate of his brother's unplanned flight, Louis was in front of him eye to eye a few inches from his face, with an exclamation of surprise Dean went to take an involuntary step backwards but found he couldn't move.

"It's time James." The cold voice matched the coldness in his gray eyes.

Dean tried to speak all he managed to squeeze out of his dry seemingly suddenly paralyzed throat was, "I'm…. not…. Ja-"

Dean felt an intense force pushing against his chest and a second later he was flung backwards onto the sidewalk, the impact knocking the breathe from his body. As he lay there trying to pull air into his starved lungs Louis was on him hovering horizontally above his prone body. Dean stared wide-eyed and helpless into the pale translucent face, wondering where Sam was and hoping he was alright.

Louis raised his right arm and Dean saw the blade of the knife he had in his hand poised above his chest. "Its God's will it must be done." Louis said. Dean thought he might have imagined that he detected a note of sadness in his voice.

_So this is how it ends and I can't even lift a finger to save myself._

Dean tried one last ditch effort to free a hand just a hand from the force holding him captive, his eyes never leaving the knife as it began to descend gathering speed as Louis brought it down, it entered the flesh in between his collar bone and the top of his ribcage of his left shoulder. Pain radiated down his arm and across his chest, Dean let out a cry of anguish and squeezed his eyes shut, opening them again when Louis pulled the knife from his flesh with an obscene sucking noise preparing to plunge it in again. His wide pain filled eyes drawn away from the now blood covered blade to the cold steely gray eyes of Louis Archer.

Dean saw a blur of movement to his left and in an instant everything changed, fine white crystals showered over Louis from that side and then Louis was gone dissipating into the air in a shimmering vapor, the fine crystals that had hit Louis rained down on Dean showering his head and shoulders, some of the crystals fell into his parted lips. _Salt, its salt, on ya Sammy, God I hope its Sammy._

From his left Sam appeared above him, his frantic gaze going from the bloody evidence of the wound in Dean's shoulder to his face. Dean managed to suck enough air into his lungs to gasp. "Cutting it… a bit fine… there Sammy… what kept you?" His voice sounded breathless. _I wonder why? It wouldn't be because I've just been attacked by a pissed off spirit._

Sam gave a weak lopsided smile before saying. "Sorry bro I was preoccupied being unconscious."

"You… oright.

Sam nodded. "I'm good."

Dean looked relieved. "Where'd… you get the… salt?"

Sam gave Dean a chaste smile. "I stole a salt shaker from the bar."

"Dude… I'm... definitely rubbing… off on you."

When Sam had seen the figure of a man standing on the sidewalk in their path, he knew who it was, Sam stiffened instantly alert to the danger, beside him Dean also seemed to have sensed something not right, as they got closer Sam saw that his instincts were right it was the ghostly figure of Louis Archer. He and Dean slowed their steps and stopped a few yards from the floating apparition.

"Err Sam is that who I think it is?" Dean sounded apprehensive.

"Uhuh, it is." Sam said.

"Holy crap, got any bright ideas college boy?"

Sam opened his mouth to say something but it was Louis who spoke. "I've been waiting for you James."

Sam reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around the cool metal of the salt shaker.

"Dean I think we should-" Sam was going to say 'run' but before he did he was lifted forcefully off the ground and thrown backwards at alarming speed away from Dean's side. The trip was short and fast ending as the back of Sam's head and the middle of his back connected with something cylindrical, hard and unyielding. A sharp pain radiated through his head before a black curtain descended shutting out all else.

Sam didn't think he was unconscious for very long, he was aware of a pain centering on the back of his head and in between his shoulder blades he knew he was awake because if he wasn't he wouldn't have pain, so why is it dark. _Guess it might help if I open my eyes._

The sight that met his eyes forced all his own pain from his mind, 20 feet away Louis' spirit floated horizontally above his prostrate brother the knife descending rapidly towards Dean's chest, as it entered his body Dean gave an anguished cry. Sam scrambled forward onto his knees realizing he still had his hand wrapped around the salt shaker. Still on his knees Sam crawled forward at the same time unscrewing the lid of the shaker, as the lid came free falling to the ground with a metallic clatter he hurled the contents at Louis' head just as he was raising the knife to plunge it into his brother again.

The salt hit Louis on the side of his head and before the salt crystals fell to the ground and onto his brother, Louis' ghostly figure was gone, dissipating into the shimmering air above Dean.

Sam dropped the empty shaker vaguely aware as it clattered to the sidewalk. On hands and knees he covered the last few feet to Dean's side leaning over him his eyes going from the bloody evidence of the wound in Dean's shoulder to his face both of which were covered in a sprinkling of salt. Dean was conscious and it appeared that Louis had only stabbed Dean once. _Thank god._

Dean green gaze went straight to Sam's face looking for signs of injury seeing none he sucked in a breath, saying, "Cutting it… a bit fine… there Sammy… what kept you?" He sounded winded.

Sam gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile, saying, "Sorry bro I was preoccupied being unconscious."

"You… oright. _Typical Dean had been stabbed and he's worried about me._

Sam nodded. "I'm good."

Dean looked relieved. "Where'd… you get the… salt?"

Sam gave Dean a chaste smile. "I stole a salt shaker from the bar."

"Dude… I'm... definitely rubbing… off on you." Sam smiled. _Too true._

Sam pulled aside Dean's jacket, shirt and the neck of his t-shirt; blood was oozing from the inch and a half long wound. "It's not too bad but, it's gonna need stitching," Sam let the clothing fall back into place. He pulled a handkerchief from his jeans pushed it inside Dean's t-shirt against the wound then taking Dean's left hand he placed it against the blood covered jacket, saying, "It's gonna hurt like a bitch but can you keep pressure on it?"

Dean nodded pressing down on the wound with a groan and a grimace of pain. "Sam we'd better… get the hell outta here before… Louis comes back."

"My thoughts exactly." Sam helped Dean to his feet moving to Dean's right side Sam pulled his right arm across his own shoulders grasping Dean's right hand at the same time snaking his left arm across Dean's back and around his waist.

Dean dragged in a breath and leaned heavily into Sam's side, Sam glanced over his shoulder curious to see what had ended his flight through the air. A metallic pole with a street sign attached at the top saying: **YIELD!**

_Yield huh, well I did that._

It took them twice as long to get back to the motel from the bar as it had to get there, by the time they reached the steps up to the first floor and their room Dean was breathing heavily and putting nearly all his weight into Sam's side. Sam knew it was the blood loss taking its toll sapping Dean's strength with every step.

When they reached their door Sam half propped Dean against the wall holding him there as he fumbled one-handed in his pocket for the key, after getting the door open they stumbled through the door and over to the closest bed, Sam as gently as he could lowered Dean to sit on it.

Sam ran down to the Impala and retrieved the first aid kit. Sam hit the light switch. Dean was sitting on the side of the bed he had managed to get out of his jacket and shirt and was struggling to get the blood soaked t-shirt over his head; Sam dropped the first aid kit onto the table beside the bed saying, "Here let me help."

Sam divested Dean of the t-shirt the handkerchief that had been white now red and wet with Dean's blood came away with it dropping them onto the shirt and jacket next to the bed. Dean looked at the ruined t-shirt saying angrily. "Damn another t-shirt ruined, I'm gonna have to buy some new ones if this keeps up."

While Sam rummaged around in the kit, Dean looked down at the wound the bleeding had slowed to an oozing flow, noting how close Louis had come to his heart with the thrust of the knife. _Another inch further over and…lights out. _Dean felt a shiver run down his spine.

Sam soaked some wadded gauze with peroxide and laid it against the wound; Dean hissed at the sting but didn't flinch away. "Hold this while I get the needle and thread." Sam switched on the bedside light shining more light on Dean and the wound.

Ten minutes later Sam had completed a neat row of seven stitches, cleaned the fast drying blood from around the wound and on Dean's chest, he covered the stitches with a gauze pad and taped it in place. Dean had remained stoically silent through the whole process.

After a brief search Sam found some prescription painkillers left over from what the doctors in Oregon had given Dean after their run-in with the beasts in the forest. He popped two out of the blister pack and held them out to Dean with a glass of water from the bathroom. "Take these."

Dean eyed the pills in suspiciously. "What are they?"

"For the pain of course." Sam said like he was talking to a nine year old.

"I don't need em, pains okay." Dean said shaking his head; he even looked like a nine year old.

Sam looked at Dean the pained look in his eyes and the pinched lines around his mouth told a different story. "Liar." Was all he said.

Dean didn't object to Sam's slight on his character. He stared at Sam who looked as determined to make him take the pills as he was determined not to take them. He hated it when Sam got all mother hen like on him. But it wasn't so much that. He didn't like the way they made him feel, groggy, lethargic and not in control of his own body, and he needed to be in control, he needed to watch out for Sammy.

"So it doesn't hurt?" Sam sounded unconvinced.

"No not at all." Dean lied.

Sam lifted one side of his mouth in a smirk, a look that was so much like their father. "Prove it?"

"What?" Dean was astounded.

"There something wrong with your hearing, **I said…. prove it.**" _There's dad again. _Dean felt that if Sam didn't have a glass in one hand and the pills in the other he would have crossed his arms over his chest.

"I won't." Dean said petulantly.

"Fine, I've got all night, I'm not moving from this spot until you prove that stab wound doesn't hurt like a bitch or you admit you're in pain and take these."

"Alright I'll prove it doesn't hurt." Dean took a breath and with his elbow bent began to move his arm in a circle. He'd only got it parallel to his shoulder when a sharp pain emanating from the wound stabbed across his chest and down his arm. He clutched at the arm bending forward at the waist his eyes screwed shut and a loud exclamation of. **"SONOFABITCH."**

Sam was ashamed that he had done that to his brother to prove his point. But Dean is so God damned stubborn. He put the glass down on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to Dean, he began to rub small circles on his back, as Dean rocked back and forward his eyes still closed.

"Now will you take the pills?" Sam said in a soothing voice.

Dean stopped rocking and looked sideways at Sam; Sam noted his face was now coated in fine layer of perspiration. "You're not gonna leave me in peace until I do are you?"

Sam shook his head. "No definitely not."

"You're a stubborn bastard, you know that." Dean said without heat or malice.

"Look whose talking." Dean couldn't help himself, he smiled holding out his hand for the pills.

Sam dropped them into his hand and handed him the glass of water, watching Dean like a hawk to make sure he swallowed them.

As soon as the first of the water hit the back of his throat Dean realized he was thirsty and downed the whole glass along with the pills.

"Lie down and get some rest." Sam said as he picked up the empty glass and the pile of bloody clothes carrying them into the bathroom. The clothes he threw into the shower recess turning on the shower and letting the water rinse away the blood, mesmerized by the pink water circling the drain before it was sucked away. Sam stood there until the water ran clean, turning off the shower leaving the clothes to drain. He filled the glass again, this time to quench his own thirst; he felt the lump on the back of his head no broken skin but a headache that was radiating from the painful lump throbbing unmercifully through his skull with every beat of his heart, not to mention the ache in the center of his back between his shoulder blades that made its presence felt with every movement of his upper body.

Sam came back into the bedroom carrying the refilled glass. Seeing Dean had lain down on the bed as Sam had suggested his left hand still showing signs of dried blood where he'd had it pressed against the wound was splayed across his bare stomach, his eyes closed, and face pale. Sam unlaced and removed Dean's boots, as gently as he could he pulled the comforter out from under him laying it over him and tucking it around his shoulders and feet.

Dean was vaguely aware of Sam pulling off his boots and tucking the comforter around him, too tired and weary from blood loss and the effects of the painkillers already coursing through him, dulling his senses and making his eyelids heavy, to protest that he was a big boy now and didn't need to be tucked in. Truth was he kinda liked having his little brother fussing over him. "Thanks Sammy." Was all he managed to mumble around a tongue that felt swollen and alien in his mouth, like someone had swapped it for a much larger one.

Before he drifted away on the tide of painkillers he heard Sam's softly whispered reply. "You're welcome, bro."

Sam stood looking at his sleeping brother; his long dark eyelashes lying against his pale cheeks; thanking God he'd been close by tonight. Sam had come close to losing Dean a few months ago in Oregon after Dean had fallen over a cliff trying to draw that evil beast away from him, suffering horrific injuries that the doctors said he probably wouldn't survive and nearly didn't. But surprising them all Dean had beaten the odds and after two months of hospitalization and weeks of physical therapy made a full recovery. Tonight again Sam had come close to losing his brother, but this time to Louis Archer's spirit - an inch further over and the knife would have penetrated his heart and Dean would be yet another victim of the spirits misguided revenge.

Sam sighed finally taking his eyes from his sleeping brother. He went to the first aid kit and found some Tylenol, swallowing three with the water; he took off his jacket and shoes and switched off the main overhead light leaving only the light from the bedside lamp. He lay on his own bed and turned towards Dean watching him sleep, occasionally his eyes would move rapidly under the lids. After awhile that stopped and as the Tylenol did its work Sam felt his headache lift enough for him to find sleep, comforted yet again by the sound of Dean's rhythmic breathing.

**TBC**

**Hope you enjoyed chapter 5, if you could take a minute and leave me a review, to let me know your thoughts, I would appreciate it. Thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 6

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and most definitely no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_heavy sigh!)

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

Thanks for all the reviews and the new story alerts; I'm pleased you're all enjoying my story.

Thanks to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.

**Chapter 6**

_**Thunderbird Inn – Savannah Georgia**_

When Sam awoke the room was bright with daylight, he glanced at his watch 10.48, he'd slept late, not surprising after the events of last night. He looked across at Dean's bed, his eyes blinking rapidly a couple of times then widening when he realized he wasn't seeing things or a thing such as his brother lying there, Dean's bed was empty the covers thrown back in a heap at the bottom of the bed. Sam's heart rate tripled. He sat up quickly the comforter that had been wrapped around him during the night by Dean it could have been no one else fell away from his chest. He didn't have to look too far to find his brother, Sam's heart rate dropping back to somewhere near normal when he found Dean sitting at the table dressed in a dark red v-neck t-shirt, ragged jeans and bare feet, tapping at the keys on the laptop with one hand the other the injured one resting palm up across his thighs.

"Hey you're up." Sam stated the obvious.

Dean stopped typing and looked over at Sam, he smiled brightly, but Sam wasn't fooled Dean looked tired and pale, dark circles shadowed the skin under his eyes. "Ah Lazarus has finally arisen the day is half gone." Dean replied.

Sam pushed the comforter off his legs and swung them off the side of the bed glancing at his sleep wrinkled shirt and jeans with disgust, he stood stretching his back muscles which made last night's close encounter with the pole known and running his hands through his sleep tousled hair. Sam moved over to the table and sat down opposite Dean. Up close Dean looked even worse, his eyes looked heavy they were puffy and bloodshot. "You sleep alright? How's the shoulder?" Sam asked already knowing how Dean would answer.

"Dude one question at a time, yes I slept alright, those pills you gave me, man I went out like a light, slept like a baby, and the shoulder's fine thanks to your tender ministrations, Florence."

Sam knew it for what it was an out and out lie. Twice through the night he'd awoken to Dean muttering and groaning, the second time Dean had yelled out clearly. _"No don't."_

In the light of the bedside lamp Sam had seen Dean wasn't awake, he was dreaming his eyes were shut and his head tossed from side to side, before he settled again saying no more than those two words.

Sam spoke honestly. "Yeah that's strange coz you look like crap."

Dean's bloodshot eyes scanned Sam's face, before he said. "Right back at yah, nice bed hair by the way."

Sam ignored the attempted change of subject giving Dean a searching look, a look that said. _"I'll bet I don't look as bad as you."_

Dean would never tell Sam but the truth was Dean's sleep had been plagued by nightmarish dreams or dream, the same one all night reliving the encounter with Louis' spirit. It would start as Louis held him firm against the sidewalk and end as he plunged the knife into him only to replay again like a tape on a loop over and over until Dean had started up in bed fully awake, his shoulder throbbing, he was sweating, trembling and thirsty. The dark outside the curtains lifting with the imminent arrival of daylight. Not wanting to drift back into the realms of the nightmare yet again, Dean had risen stiffly, stopping to pull the comforter around Sam who had fallen asleep in his clothes on top of the bed then made his way slowly by the light from the bedside lamp into the bathroom, quietly closed the door so as not to disturb his sleeping brother, turned on the light and drank two glasses of water hoping in the very least to slack his thirst and then regretted it as the water threatened to make an encore appearance.

Dean had sat on the closed toilet seat for a while willing the cooling fluid that had felt so good going down to stay down. When he was sure it was staying put he rather awkwardly with only one fully functioning arm stripped off his jeans and boxers opening the shower screen door he found the clothes he had been wearing last night in soggy wet pile on the shower floor, he gathered them up and dumped them into the basin, he turned the water on as hot as he could bare and had a long cleansing shower washing away all remainders of last nights ghostly and for him almost deadly encounter. He managed to keep the bandage that Sam had placed over the stitches reasonably dry patting the gauze gently with the large fluffy pastel green towel and then drying the rest of him one-handed. The wet clothes he hung haphazardly around the bathroom, _drip dry that's the way to go._

Back in the bedroom he found the only clean pair of boxers, t-shirt and jeans he had left, _we gotta do some laundry._ It took him a lot longer than usual to dress, the stitches pulling painfully when he tried to use his left arm. Ten minutes later he collapsed into the chair at the table feeling a familiar hung over effect from the pain killers and too exhausted to attempt putting on his socks and boots. He felt like he'd run a marathon and he'd definitely failed to finish.

Half heartedly he'd opened Sam's laptop and searched the internet for anything relevant to Louis Archer, he'd come across a local web sight for the Savannah Historical Society, they had pages and pages on Louis and the Archers but nothing that he and Sam didn't already know. There was a large section on Archers Ghost and the unsolved murders associated with that, even all the names and pictures of the victims including the latest two 30 year old Jason Marshall and of course 27 year old Rafe Grayson, the Savannah Historical Society keep their web sight well maintained with up to date and concise information, not that it helped him in any way. All the young men in the photos had a similar look to James and himself. When he got to the latest victim Rafe Grayson Dean thought that today was Saturday and the day Rafe and his fiancée were to be married, then ironically, _Father Harper has a huge hole in his schedule for today._ But another thought came to him the Historical Society could very well have today been adding his picture and name to the list of Archers Ghost's victims, _well his current fake name anyway._ It would read something like this: Dean Chester aged 29.

Now hours later he had come to a conclusion of what their next move should be, hopefully it would reveal more on how they were going to finish this hunt. He just had to run his idea past Sam first and now was the time as Sam had finally woken and was sitting across from him looking at him with the look that said, _"Bet I don't look as bad as you." _Hell he was probably right but after last night Dean was more determined than ever to make sure no one else suffered at the vengeful spirits ghostly hands or knife as it were.

"Find anything interesting." Sam inclined his head towards the laptop.

"Nah nothing." Dean said with disgust as he closed the laptop.

"So what's the plan?" Sam asked, and then added, "I assume you have a plan."

"You're not gonna like it."

"At this stage I'm willing to try anything, even one of your plans." Sam said, waiting for Dean to rise to the insult.

Dean looked disgusted, saying, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, mister I went to college."

Sam smiled pleased with the result of his slight on Dean's planning skills. Not that he meant it; Dean's plans were always solid and worked 95 of the time. It was that Sam enjoyed yankin' his chain every now and then.

"Do I get to know what the plan is today or are you gonna make me wait until I'm old and gray." Sam said with that smug smile still plastered on his face.

"I think we ought to go back and see Matthew."

"And say what?"

"I think we should tell him the truth."

"That's the plan tell Matthew the truth, do you think that's a good idea?"

"If you've got a better idea feel free to share it with me, Sam."

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment then said. "I got nothing we'll go with your plan."

-- SI --

Sam had showered, shaved and dressed; fought his damp shaggy hair into submission, checked Dean's wound it looked fine, no redness at the edges where he'd placed the neat row of stitches. He dabbed at it again with peroxide, slathered it with antibiotic cream and redressed it. It was shortly after that they struck a problem as Sam insisted Dean stay in the motel and rest while he went to the diner and got them some breakfast which would be more like brunch as it was a quarter to midday.

"Come on Sam why can't I come?" Dean sounded like a little kid who'd been told he couldn't go to the candy store, "I was stabbed in the shoulder not the leg, I can walk to the diner."

"No Dean you're staying here and resting if I have to handcuff you to the bed and that's that."

"You wanna tie me up, didn't know you were into that kinky stuff little brother." Dean wiggled his eyebrows up and down, then added, "The things you learn about a person."

"Funny, very funny but, I'm serious, the choice is yours, either you lay down on that bed and rest or I'm going to get the handcuffs from the trunk." Sam crossed his arms over his chest waiting for an answer.

Dean gave a sly smile before saying. "I love it when you get all masterful and take control."

"That does it." Sam turned towards the door.

"Alright, alright you win I'll stay here." Dean said hurriedly.

Sam turned back to Dean. "I knew you'd see it my way." Sam said smugly, an expression to match.

Dean hated it when Sam used that smug smart ass look, oh how he wanted to knock that look off Sam's face with a well placed bunch of fives. Instead he continued to sit in the chair with a sulky expression on his face. Even his body was conspiring against him, as if to prove Sam had a point his shoulder started to throb. _Okay looks like I'm staying here, damn it I hate it when he's right._

Sam didn't move from the spot. Dean looked up from the tips of Sam's well worn canvas sneakers peeping out from the ragged hem of his jeans up all 6 feet 4 of him to his face with an expression that said, _"Now what?"_

"I'm waiting." Sam said.

"I can see that, but if I knew what you were waiting for I'd die of hunger a happy man." Dean said sarcastically.

Sam pointed a long finger at Dean's bed saying, "You on the bed now."

Dean rolled his eyes and got up from the chair. He made his way purposefully slowly to the bed holding the arm attached to the throbbing shoulder against his stomach, with a sigh he flopped down on the side of the bed, then he looked at Sam who was still standing in the same place, before saying, "Satisfied?"

"No not yet, lie down then I will be."

Dean gave another exaggerated sigh before easing himself back onto the bed and lying down.

"Now I'm satisfied, don't move from there, I'll be back soon."

"Get a move on, oh and if you find me dead when you get back I probably died of hunger." Dean said with a quick snarky smile.

"Again funny, have a nice nap." Sam said as he made his way to the door, turning to give Dean another look and ducking just in time to miss the pillow that sailed at him from the direction of Dean's bed.

Dean heard Sam chuckle as he closed the door behind him.

-- SI --

Dean was still lying on the bed eyes closed when Sam returned clutching a brown paper bag, large grease spots soaking through at the bottom and two take out coffee cups. Dean sat up immediately alert to the arrival of food.

"Bout time, I'm starving." Dean said as he almost jumped off the bed.

Sam could have sworn Dean floated on the smell over to the table where Sam had placed the bag; the smell it exuded was a mouth watering mixture of bacon and fresh bread.

Being stabbed a mere 13 hours before didn't affect Dean's appetite. He consumed two extra thick bacon and egg sandwiches, two iced donuts and a ginormous take-out coffee. Sam only managed one sandwich one donut and a regular sized coffee.

Dean gave a contented sigh after draining the last of the coffee; he patted his flat stomach and looked across the table at Sam saying. "Well that hit the spot, thanks Sammy."

Dean's good nature was restored by a full belly and Sam saw the silly contented expression on his brother's face, but the lines of pain were still evident around his deeply shadowed eyes. "You're welcome bro."

Dean looked down at the remains of Sam's brunch before saying, "If you've finished we'll get going." He rose from the table and went into the bathroom holding his arm against his side, obviously in pain. Seconds later Sam heard the sounds of Dean brushing his teeth.

He waited for a minute before asking. "Hey Dean you wanna take some more of those painkillers before we go?" There was a slight delay in the answer while Dean finished brushing.

"No I'm good." _How did I know he was gonna say that?_

Dean emerged from the bathroom smacking his lips together, savoring the fresh minty taste and clean fur free teeth.

Sam persisted. "What about a couple of Tylenol then?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I said I'm good."

Sam rose from the table and went to stand in front of Dean. "I can see you're in pain, just take the Tylenol will yah, for me, please."

Dean looked at Sam's patented puppy dog expression and he knew he would take the Tylenol. After all these years you'd think he'd be immune to that look, but he still could not deny Sam anything when he bought out the big guns.

"Okay Sammy I'll take the Tylenol."

Sam's smile was like a split watermelon as he moved past Dean into the bathroom. _That did it; the puppy dog eyes work every time._

-- SI --

_**The Archer Mansion (The same day)**_

Hettie's dark face lit up with pleasure when she opened the door and saw who was standing there.

"Hettie is Mr. Archer at home we need to see him it's important." Dean said with an answering smile.

"He is but he's finishing his lunch at the moment."

"Sorry to do this Hettie but we need to see him now." Dean said as he pushed his way through the door, Sam right on his heels. She stumbled back a step taken by surprise by the unexpected movement.

Dean stalked down the hall Sam right behind, seeing Matthew Archer sitting at a large dining table through the open door at the end of the hall opposite the office, they went in. Matthew looked up from his plate a look of confusion coming over his face at the interruption.

"Sorry to barge in but we need to speak with you sir." Sam said.

Hettie came into the room behind them, her eyes went to Matthew saying, "I'm sorry Mr. Archer but they pushed their way in, I told them you were having lunch."

"It's alright Hettie I'll deal with this." Matthew said in a calming voice.

Without another word Hettie left the room.

"Gentlemen what is so urgent that it couldn't wait until after lunch." He said as he rose from the table, then wiping his mouth on a napkin.

"We need to talk to you its important, lives may depend on it." Sam said.

"What do mean?" Matthew looked from one to the other skeptically, before adding, "You're not journalists, are you?" His eyes settled on Dean.

"No sir we're not we're actually brothers and we're here to -" Dean began to explain but was interrupted by Matthew's angry voice.

"I don't want to hear it; I want you to leave my home now." Matthew threw the napkin down on the table.

Sam took a step forward holding out his hands in a calming gesture. "We can explain, please you have to hear us out."

"No you entered my home under false pretenses pretending to be someone you're not then you come barging in here and say you can explain, leave now or I'll call the police." He pointed in the direction of the front door.

Dean waded in saying, "We're investigating the recent murders, we know who's responsible and why he's doing it."

"Why are you telling me this? I don't see what that has to do with me."

"It has everything to do with you and your family." Sam said firmly.

"I'm calling the police." He walked past them out into the hall towards a phone on a small table next to the dining room. "You're mad both of you." He picked up the phone. "Now leave."

"Please don't do that." Dean said.

Sam decided to try a different approach. "My brother was attacked last night, stabbed by the same thing that killed those two men."

"And you think I had something to do with it?" Matthew still had the phone in his hand.

"We know you don't but it is someone from your family that's responsible."

"No it can't be." Matthew shook his head in disbelief.

"It's your great grandfather Louis." Dean bluntly told him.

Matthew shot a stunned look at Dean. "My great grandfather Louis has been dead for nearly ninety years, and you're telling me he's responsible for two murders and an attempted murder in the last week, like I said before you're mad."

Dean ignored the 'you're mad' part, saying. "Not him exactly but his spirit, his ghost if you prefer, and this is not the first time he's murdered, since his death he's been on three murder sprees every twenty nine years the body count is ten so far."

"It's not possible, ghosts don't exist." But Matthew didn't sound convinced by his own words.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, yes they do, but you know that don't you?" Dean said.

Sam moved forward and took the phone out of Matthew's hand, replacing it in the cradle. "We need your help to put Louis' spirit to rest and stop anyone else dying."

Matthew looked at Sam and then nodded. "We'll talk in my office."

-- SI --

Once again the brothers were in Matthew Archer's office, sitting opposite Matthew on the green sofa.

Matthew listened intently as they explained what they did and why they were here, asking the occasional question. They explained how and why Louis' spirit returned every 29 years in March. The 29 years was James' age at the time and March the month when he was murdered by Louis, the same night shortly after Louis had fallen to his death down the Archer Mansion staircase. His spirit seeking out anyone who resembled his son in looks and age, repeating his murder over and over on these innocent men, who happened to resemble James. Because Louis believed in life and death his homosexual son was evil and what he Louis was doing was God's will.

"So Louis' ghost or spirit is killing these men because they look like James?"

"Yes." Sam said.

Matthew looked at Dean. "Which would explain why he tried to murder you, seeing as you are the spitting image of James?"

Dean gave a humorless smile. "I'm just lucky I guess."

"How are you going to stop it from happening again?" Matthew asked.

Sam leaned forward on the sofa. "Usually we take care of a restless vengeful spirit by digging up their remains salting and burning what's left, once all trace of their human remains are destroyed they usually pass over and are gone for good, put to rest if you like, but…"

Dean took up the story from Sam. "Louis was cremated so his body is already gone."

Matthew looked puzzled, "So why is he still here then?"

"There must be something of Louis still here, some of his DNA, blood, hair, skin, a finger nail, something that's binding him here, we need to find it and destroy it to stop Louis." Sam explained.

Dean asked. "Do know where what ever it is might be found? It could be traces of his blood or maybe some of his hair."

Matthew shook his head, "I don't know of anything, as far as I know all Archers are cremated intact as it were, my father Edward may have had some idea if there was anything but he died 2 years ago."

The room was silent for a few seconds then Dean said. "The night Louis murdered James; he fell down the stairs right after afterward, broke his neck?"

"That's what my grandfather Richard told me."

"Was there any blood from Louis?"

"I don't know; there was James' blood on the knife and all over Louis, I guess some of it could have been Louis' blood."

Sam picked up on where Dean was going with this. "Where's the knife now?"

"I don't know, no one ever said what happened to it." He looked from Sam to Dean before adding, "Do you think some of Louis' blood is on the knife and that's what's binding him here?"

"Could be." Sam answered.

Dean spoke to Sam. "We gotta locate that knife and fast."

Sam nodded, and then said to Matthew. "Is there anybody you can think of that might know what happened to the knife?"

Matthew rose from the sofa opposite the brothers and paced across the room in front of the desk, turned and came back to the sofa. He stopped and looked down at them. "Everyone who would know, they're all dead."

Dean had an idea where the knife could be, he looked at Sam saying. "The police usually keep all the evidence from a murder, right?"

"Yeah in evidence lockup." Sam picked up on the idea immediately.

"So what if the knife is still locked up with the rest of the evidence from James' murder?"

Sam addressed Matthew. "Can you give us the address of the police station?"

**TBC**

**Some more brotherly banter for you. And the plot thickens, are the boys on the right track? **

**Thanks for reading, if you could spare a teeny, weenie minute and ****please**** leave a review, you will make my day and night and the next day.**


	7. Chapter 7

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and most definitely no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_heavy sigh!)

Thanks as always to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.

And thanks also to all those who reviewed the last chapter.

**Chapter 7**

_**Garden City Police Department - Savannah, Georgia**_

It had taken them an hour to track down which of the half a dozen police stations in Savannah had the evidence and property lockup. When they found that it was in the Garden City Station their hopes of finding the knife there took a nose dive as Garden City was way outside of the area Louis seemed bound to, and if the knife was the thing binding Louis then it would not be in Garden City.

Another hour later they strode into the police station in suits and ties with fake FBI identity cards in their inside jacket pockets. They ran a gauntlet through various police departments showing fake ID's before finally making it to the evidence lockup in the basement of the station. They handed the forged paperwork to the police officer there, he also checked their ID before punching their request into the computer.

The pot-bellied close to retirement age officer scrutinized the screen before looking at the two FBI men who to his seasoned eyes looked like they were just out of high school and definitely too young for the FBI, shook his head before saying. "Sorry gentlemen no can do."

Sam said. "What seems to be the problem?" Thinking they'd missed something in the paperwork.

"There's no problem, I'd give it to you if it were here, seeing as you've got the appropriate paper work and all always happy to help our colleagues at the bureau."

"It's not here; this is the evidence lockup isn't it?" Dean said irritably.

"Oh you got the right place son, but," Officer Potbelly looked back to the screen then read from it; "The evidence from the James Archer murder case on the 8th of March 1921 was handed back to the Archer family on April 25th 1941, twenty years after the case was concluded. Can't keep evidence forever, if we did the whole station would be filled from top to bottom with evidence and property. It's only kept for so long then either disposed of or handed back to family."

Sam knew Dean was angry as even with his longer legs had to hurry to keep up with his less than 100 brother taking long angry strides out of the police station and into the parking lot towards the waiting Impala.

It was late afternoon, only an hour away from sunset, another fruitless day almost gone.

"We knew it would be a long shot, Dean." Sam said trying to placate him as he stepped into stride beside him.

"Another dead end." Dean almost growled as they crossed the parking lot.

Sam stopped walking struck by a sudden thought. "Not really, if the evidence was handed back to the family, it might be still somewhere in the house."

Dean had gone another four strides before he too stopped and turned to face Sam. "Matthew would have told us if it was."

"Maybe he doesn't know it's there?"

"His father would have told him."

Sam took three steps forward closing the distance between them. "Not necessarily, the knife was handed back 16 years before Matthew was born, maybe Grandfather Richard put it away somewhere to try and forget about the whole thing, maybe he never even told his son Edward where it was."

"You know what Sam?"

"What?"

"I think you might be on the right track, The Archer Mansion is in Louis' haunting area."

"So what do you wanna do now?"

"We need to go back to the Mansion and search it from top to bottom."

-- SI --

_**The Archer Mansion**_

Matthew was stunned. "You don't really think the knife is here somewhere, in the house."

"Yep, the police records show it was handed back to the family in 1941, along with all other evidence from James' murder, do you have any idea where we might find it?" Dean asked.

"No none."

"Are you sure? Because it's very important we locate that knife as soon as possible and destroy it." Sam said trying to instill the urgency of the situation into his voice. Evening was upon them which meant another man may fall victim to Louis' spirit.

"Neither my grandfather or father ever mentioned anything about the knife; it's not really the kind of thing that comes up in family dinner conversation." Matthew replied.

"It probably would have been put away somewhere, out of sight out of mind." Dean said.

Matthew thought for a moment. "There's lots of stuff stored in the basement it could be in amongst that."

Sam and Dean shared a look before Sam said. "Do you mind if we take a look?"

"Of course not, knock yourselves out; I'll get Hettie to unlock the basement for you."

-- SI --

"He wasn't kidding when he said lots of stuff." Dean said with frustration when he saw the Archer basement.

The overhead light illuminated the large basement come storage area running under most of the back part of the house, access was gained to the area through a locked door at the rear of the kitchen a wooden staircase leading down into the basement, three quarters full from floor to ceiling with wooden crates, ancient tea chests, cardboard boxes, outdated furniture of all shapes and sizes, old light fittings a chandelier or two amongst them and other assorted bric-a-brac, items that had no recognizable use.

Sam gave Dean a look of annoyance, saying. "There must be at least a hundred boxes in here, It's gonna take all of tonight and most of tomorrow to search this lot."

"We'd better get to it then." Dean said as he stripped off his jacket and tie and threw both on the wooden stairs leading up to the kitchen.

They didn't know long they'd been down there when they heard footsteps on the stairs; Hettie appeared carrying a tray laden with sandwiches.

The brothers stopped their searching and looked at her; she smiled at them giving Dean an extra flash of her white teeth before saying. "I thought you all might be hungry, I brought you some sandwiches."

Dean returned her smile with a megawatt one of his own saying. "Thank you Hettie I don't know about Sam but I'm starving."

"I think I could manage a sandwich or two or three." Sam said with a smile of his own.

Hettie placed the tray on one of the closed boxes. She didn't leave then instead she lingered watching as the brothers attacked the tray with enthusiasm, Hettie looked at the growing pile of boxes to one side that had been searched and discarded. "Any luck yet?" She asked.

Sam went and sat on the stairs while Dean perched on the edge of a tea chest before he answered around a mouthful of southern fried chicken sandwich. "No nothing yet," then added, "You know what we're looking for?" It was a question.

"Yays sir, I do, you're looking for the knife Mr. Louis Archer used to kill Master James."

"You wouldn't happen to know where it is, would you Hettie?" Sam asked after swallowing a mouthful.

Hettie frowned at Sam's question. "No sir I don't, I would tell you if I did."

"I thought maybe your great grandfather may have known and passed it down through the family."

"No sir, the servants were… well servants, seen but not heard like shadows, always there about but never acknowledged. You know back then African Americans weren't treated so good, and not privy to any family matters, although there was always gossip among the staff, the family thought the servants had no idea about what went on, but they knew everything about everything, well almost everything, but as far as I know my great grandfather never knew what happened to the knife that killed Master James."

This was the most Hettie had ever said in their short acquaintance and for her it appeared to be a long speech.

Dean gave a nod of understanding, before saying. "I can only imagine how hard it was for them, I know how uncaring and cruel people can be." Then he added, "Is the current Mr. Archer good to work for?"

Hettie's smile was back. "Oh yes sir, he's been very good to me and my children, he looks after us."

"Please Hettie call me Dean and this is my brother Sam." Dean indicated towards Sam sitting on the steps, Sam gave Hettie another smile.

Hettie looked back at Dean before saying; "I can't get over how much you look like Master James."

Dean looked uncomfortable at being again reminded of the likeness.

Sam went back to the previous subject of her children. "How many children do you have, Hettie?" He asked as he prepared to down the last of his second sandwich.

"I have a 19 year old daughter and a 15 year old son."

"Does your husband work for The Archers as well?" Dean asked.

A look of sadness came over her dark face. "My husband died 9 years ago, lung cancer."

"I'm sorry to here that."

"We do alright, Mr. Archer helps a lot, and he's paying for my daughter to go to college."

"That's very generous." Dean's estimation of Matthew Archer went up another notch.

"Mr. Archer is a good man." She looked a little uncomfortable that she had said so much to veritable strangers. "I'm off in ten minutes I'll bring you some coffee before I go home."

She gathered up the now empty tray and made her way up the stairs Sam had been seated leaving the brothers to the search for the elusive knife.

-- SI --

True to her word Hettie brought them some fresh made coffee, but this time she didn't linger in the basement, she left the mugs of steaming, delicious smelling brew and went back up the stairs.

Some time later Sam heard Dean groan as he pulled yet another box from the top of yet another stack. He glanced at Dean who was bent over holding his injured arm at the shoulder, and panting in pain. Sam was at his side in a flash; he put a hand on Dean's back, "You okay?" He asked bending to try and look at Dean's face.

Dean's head lifted and he gave Sam a disgusted look. "Do I look okay?" He said caustically.

Dean snapping at Sam's enquiry was a sure sign Dean was hurting, Dean tended to grumpiness when he was hurting and who could blame him. Sam knew how much Dean wanted to put an end to this haunting and he was pushing himself to get it done when he should be resting,_**hell**_ most other people would be lying in a hospital bed after being stabbed, and here was Dean rummaging around in a damp, dusty basement lugging and searching one box after another, less then twenty four hours after Sam had put seven stitches in his shoulder, with no anesthetic or pain numbing injection like the medical staff in a hospital or clinic would provide before such a procedure.

"Let's call it a night, we'll come back in the morning and finish this." Sam suggested.

"We gotta find that knife, Sam." Sam knew it was going to be tough to get Dean to quite without that easily.

"If it's here it will still be here in the morning." Sam reasoned.

Dean uncurled from his bent over position, his breathing had settled back to near normal. He looked at the stack of boxes still to get through before he said. "What if….?" The unsaid words hanging in the air.

"What if Louis kills again tonight?" Sam finished for him.

"Yeah."

"We'll have to take that risk, I'm exhausted and so are you plus your shoulder's hurting, you need to sleep and rest it Dean."

"If we find that knife tonight all this will be over," then added. "I hope."

Sam was going to have to be firm. "No Dean we're going back to the motel, and your gonna take some more of those pain killers and you're going to bed and sleep or rest at least, and that's it end of story."

Dean leaned back against the cold brick wall and looked at Sam.

In the light from overhead Sam saw a fine coat of dust and sweat covering Dean's pale face and throat his shirt that had been white was smeared with dirt and dust and clinging to his chest with sweat. Sam thought he looked ill, but waited for Dean to deny he couldn't continue and insist on staying, so he was relieved when he said, "Okay you win, **again,** that's twice in one day Sammy make the most of it coz it won't happen again, got it."

"Sure Dean what ever you say."

-- SI --

_**Thunderbird Inn - (Later the Same Evening)**_

After arriving back at the motel, the brothers had showered anxious to remove all the dust and dirt from the Archer basement. Sam had changed Dean's bandage noting that the wound looked a little puffy and inflamed, telling Dean he might need some antibiotics. Dean dismissed his concerns saying. "It'll be fine Sam, quit worrying."

They were both soon in bed, physically and mentally exhausted from another day of fruitless searching.

Some time later Dean started awake; he shivered in the chill of the room goose bumps raised on the skin of his arms and chest where the comforter had slipped off him, tangling around the lower half of his legs. The room was dark but not dark enough that he couldn't make out the silhouette of a figure standing beside the bed bending over him; he couldn't distinguish any features but it was a man, his instincts told so. _Must be Sammy, was I talking in my sleep again? Hey wait a sec' the shoulders don't look broad enough to be Sam's_. "Sam is something wrong?" Dean asked tentatively, there was no response, so Dean added, even less sure now that the figure was Sam. "Did I wake you; was I talking in my sleep again?"

Sam lifted his right hand above his shoulder there was something in his hand, with out taking his eyes off the upraised arm of the silent figure; Dean reached out blindly to his right and his fingers amazingly quickly located the switch for the bedside lamp.

Dean drew in a sharp breathe when the figure over him was illuminated by the dim light, revealing its identity, it wasn't Sam, it was Louis Archer and this time he was in Technicolor, not ghostly and surreal, he was as he had seen him in his vision when he was James the vision of the night he murdered James. In his upraised hand was the knife the one he and Sam had been searching for. The knife he now realized he had seen twice before, last night on the street when Louis had attacked him and one time before that, all this went through Dean's mind in a split second, and then Louis whispered, drawing Dean's eyes from the knife to the cold gray eyes so filled with hate. "I have to do this, it's the only way." Then he plunged the knife down into his stomach.

Dean gasped his green eyes opening wide in shock as intense pain radiated outwards from the knife buried to the hilt in the flesh of his belly, he fisted his hands in the sheet beneath him in capable of anything else.

Louis' eyes slid from Dean's to his hand wrapped around the knife's handle, he pulled it from Dean's belly and lifted it again, blood dripped from the tip of the knife across the bed.

Dean uncurled his fists from the sheet and pressed them against the wound, in an effort to stem the flow of his own warm blood seeping between his splayed fingers. Dean managed to gasp out one word, unknowingly to him the same word James had used as he lay dying by his father's hand. "Why?"

Tears appeared in Louis' eyes, his lips began to tremble, before he answered. "I had to I'm sorry."

Dean closed his eyes unable to watch as the knife began to descend for the second time. He waited for the pain that would come when the knife entered his body for the second time, but nothing happened for a few seconds then the mattress dipped as something heavy sat down beside him. He tensed waiting for what ever horror was to follow. Instead he felt something warm patting his cheek, the patting was accompanied by a soft deep voice whispering softly. "Dean open your eyes, it's me Sammy."

_No it's not Sammy, its Louis._

Dean became aware of other things besides the gentle patting that continued, he no longer had pain in his belly from the stab wound and his hands were dry not coated in his own sticky, warm blood from being pressed against the wound and his skin that moments before had felt chilled was radiating heat and oozing perspiration.

Dean risked cracking open his eyes just a fraction hoping like hell his latest freaky-assed vision was over and it Sam sitting beside him and the whole thing had been just that a vision. He had been channeling James again, and James had just shown him the missing piece of the puzzle.

Sam saw a slither of green appear between Dean's sooty lashes, he smiled saying. "There you are that wasn't so hard was it?"

Dean opened his eyes all the way; Sam withdrew his hand from Dean's cheek. Dean leaned up and looked down at his stomach and lifted his hands examining them in the light from the lamp, _did I turn the light on, like in the vision or had Sam turned it on? _Dean leaned up and looked down at his stomach, then lifting his hands and examining them in the light from the lamp,_ no stomach wound, no blood and no pain._ He looked at Sam then, saying. "Why are you talking to me like I'm five?" He let his head flop back against the pillow before adding. "I was dreaming, wasn't I?" It was an admission and a question in one.

"Yeah I woke up and you were moaning and talking, I heard you say 'why'." Sam scanned Dean's face, _is Dean ready to tell me about it?_ "You wanna tell me about it?" He ventured quietly.

Dean wiped his finger tips across his damp forehead before saying. "I dreamed Louis was here, not spirit Louis, Louis from 1921, he stabbed me in the stomach, I think…."

When Dean stopped Sam prompted, "What?"

"I think, I was James again, James showed me his murder or part of it."

"You mean it was like another vision?"

"Yeah I guess." Dean suddenly thought of the other thing in the vision James had wanted him to see, the vital piece of the puzzle. He sat up suddenly ignoring the pain and the pull at the stitches in his shoulder and narrowly avoiding bumping heads with Sam who was still perched on the side of Dean's bed. Sam started back in surprise at the unexpected movement.

"Sam the knife, I know where it is."

**TBC**

**So now they know where the knife is, can they destroy it before Louis makes another appearance?**

**Things are gonna get nasty for the boys in the next chapter, (yah) with plenty of hurt Dean and Sammy to the rescue.**

**Thanks for reading, please let me know what you think.**


	8. Chapter 8

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**Thanks for all the reviews and new story alerts. It makes me happy and pleased to know people are reading **_**SPITTING IMAGE**_** and waiting for the next chapter.**

**Here's chapter 8.**

**Chapter 8**

_**Cathedral of John the Baptist Catholic Church – Savannah, Georgia**_

They'd both dressed quickly Dean in jeans and a fawn t-shirt, Sam also in jeans buttoning up his blue and white check shirt as they hurried down the stairs to the Impala.

It was early Sunday morning as they made the short but tension filled drive to the church.

Dean was silently berating himself for not seeing it before, the last two days looking for the knife and he had known where it was the whole time. He had even thought at the time looking at Father Harper's knife collection how the one knife had seemed out of place in amongst the others, Father Harper's words came back to him. _'I'm very proud of my collection some of them are donated'_ and then later in the rectory,_ 'Over the years the Archers have been one of the churches biggest benefactors donating money and various other artifacts of interest to the church, some of them religious and some of them not.'_

Sam looked at Dean's profile in the meager light inside the car; he saw the line of tension around Dean's mouth and his white knuckled grip on the steering wheel. He knew what was going on in Dean's head; he was blaming himself for not putting it together sooner. "We'll destroy the knife and this will be over." Sam was hoping the words would sooth his brother, but they had the opposite effect.

"If I'd have being doing my job properly, not walking around with my head up my ass, Rafe Grayson would still be alive, married and off on his honeymoon right now."

Sam tried to make Dean see how unreasonable he was being. "You can't blame yourself for that Dean; Rafe was murdered before we knew what was binding Louis here, his death is not your fault."

"Whatever." Was the half-hearted reply.

Sam knew Dean took hunting evil very seriously; shouldering all the responsibility if a hunt went bad and people got hurt or killed even if those things were out of his control. It was the way Dean was and Sam knew it would never change. Dean was very good at his job, never leaving anything to chance, but sometimes things happened that could not be helped. Rafe Grayson's murder was not Dean's fault. All Sam had to do was convince Dean. _That's gonna be easy, not._

"Well it's not and you can't keep blaming yourself for all the shit that happens." Dean didn't reply. He kept his eyes ahead on the road. "Dean, is any of this penetrating your thick skull?" Still nothing. "**DEAN."** Sam shouted at his apparently deaf brother.

Dean glanced at Sam across the interior of the car. Sam was probably right, but it didn't change the way he felt. He wanted to say something to Sam acknowledge that Sam was trying to ease his conscience, so he said. "Yeah I hear ya, it's not my fault." It didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

Sam opened his mouth to say something. "We're here." Dean said effectively cutting off what ever Sam was going to say as they pulled up outside the church. This was a clear indication to Sam that this conversation was over.

The street was deserted; the Impala was the only car within a hundred or so meters of the church. They got out of the car and went around to the trunk, Dean handed Sam the loaded salt gun and a few extra rounds which Sam shoved into his pocket, Louis might show up before they could burn the knife, the salt gun would hopefully be enough to keep him at bay until the job was done. Dean picked up the gas can and disposable lighter, closing the trunk.

They hurried up the church steps taking them two at a time stopping at the large double doors.

Using the lock-pick Dean made quick work of the of the old brass lock on the left hand door, putting the lock-pick back into his pocket next to the lighter before pushing the door open with a groan of old hinges.

The first and easiest part of the plan was done, but in a split second everything changed and not for the better.

Before Dean could pick up the gas can, a blast of icy cold air hit him in the face; he was thrown onto his back, dragged through the open door feet first, which promptly slammed shut. Cutting off a shocked Sam from his brother, it happened so fast Sam had no time to react.

The echoing of the slamming door died away and with a desperate cry of "**DEAN!"** the second time in a few minutes, Sam frantically jiggled, pushed and pulled at the large handle at the same time throwing all his weight behind his shoulder as he repeatedly slammed it against the wooden door. The old but strong door didn't budge a fraction of and inch.

Sam soon realized he was not going to gain entry to the church through this door; he needed to find another way in and fast, before Louis Archer's spirit finished the job on his brother it had started the night before.

With the salt gun in hand he sprinted back down the steps, turning a 180 to his left down beside the church, with out breaking stride he leapt over the waist high iron fence and into the church graveyard, keeping to the neatly kept grass path, Sam dodged between the gravestones, his long legs carrying him quickly to the steps leading to the side door into the church. Not surprisingly this door was also firmly closed and even though Sam could turn the handle the power of Louis was baring his entry.

His brother was inside with Louis' revenge fueled spirit and what was worse; Dean had no means to defend or protect himself from such wrath and hatred.

Sam took off again at a run towards the back of the church. _There has to be another way in. _

-- SI --

As the blast of icy cold air hit him; Dean felt himself forcibly thrown backwards. He landed heavily, winded, a jarring pain shot through his wounded shoulder. He felt the stitches Sam had meticulously closed the wound with tear free, a heartbeat before he was dragged feet first through the open door which slammed behind him, the sound reverberating off the cavernous ceiling, echoing around him and dying away with a kind of finality as he was effectively cut off from Sam.

As Dean tried to draw a breath into his lungs he heard Sam call out his name, his voice muffled by the thick walls of the church. His unplanned journey continued past the font and the bank of candles and down the center aisle, towards the alter at the front of the church. The wooden pews flashed by on either side of his head.

Desperately Dean reached out attempting to slow his passage by grasping onto the bottom of one the pews. His grasping fingers scraped along the polished wood but he failed to get a grip, his fingers slipping off. His progress not slowed in the slightest.

It seemed like an eternity but in reality it was only a matter of seconds before he came to a halt, his booted feet hard up against something unyielding.

Breathing hard and hurting Dean lifted his head from the flagstone floor, anxious to see what had halted his forward motion. His feet were hard up against the bottom step of the four ascending to the alter.

Dean's eyes widened as directly in front of the alter stood the spirit of Louis Archer or rather floated, ever present knife in hand.

His dire situation momentarily made him forget he was in the house of the Lord, Dean exclaimed between gritted teeth. "Jeezs."

Self preservation took over and desperately he tried to move away from the apparition scrambling backwards on his elbows digging his heels into the floor, but was unable to get any purchase on the slick flagstones, moving only fractionally away from the steps.

Louis' hate filled cold gray eyes gazed out at Dean from his pale surreal face. Then he spoke, the words Dean had heard before, floated to him. "It's time James."

-- SI --

Sam rounded the back wall of the church, sprinted to the other corner and around that one he was now on the side of the church that led to the rectory, on his left was the door leading onto the courtyard between the church and the rectory. Out of hope he tried the handle but was not surprised the door was locked and even if it hadn't have been Louis would have prevented him from entering. In frustration he bashed his fist against the door.

Sam turned away from the door and looked about for some sort of help. The rectory was in darkness, Father Harper tucked up in bed, _maybe he could help?_ But Sam didn't think he could afford the time to try and wake the octogenarian priest who he remembered wore two hearing aids and would sleep without them, which meant he would probably not hear a bomb going off at his front door.

Turning back towards the church, Sam saw the fence surrounding the steps leading down beside the church. Praying there was access to main part of the church from underneath, he ran the few short steps to the low fence put his free hand on the top and levered himself up and over the top, landing with both feet on the third step from the top.

Reaching the bottom he made short work of the old rusty padlock on the wooden door using the butt of the salt gun to smash it on the first blow. At least now he had gained access to the church even though he was underneath where Dean was having God knows what done to him by a pissed off spirit. _Hurry up Sam!_

-- SI --

"Not this again?" Dean said through clenched teeth. "You don't know when to quit."

Louis continued to gaze down upon him, the same stony look on his pale face.

Dean needed to get as far away and keep as far away from Louis as possible until Sam had a chance to find a way in and destroy the knife. Again he tried to scramble backwards, increasing the distance between himself and Louis by about another three inches.

"You have to pay penance to our Lord James," Louis said coldly. "You will suffer as Jesus was made to suffer at the hands of man. This will redeem you in God's eyes. It's the only way to save your soul from damnation and the consequences of your sins, it must be done."

Dean inched back further, Louis' words sent a shiver of apprehension through him. Trying to reason with this lunatic spirit would be impossible. _Hurry up Sam, where the hell are you?_

Without warning Dean felt himself lifted forcibly up and forward towards Louis, his body passing through Louis before twisting in mid air then landing hard, his back against the wooden cross behind the alter. The anticipated pain of the impact jarred through his body centering on his shoulder.

Dean waited for gravity to take over and for his boneless feeling body to slide down the cross to the floor but he stayed put against the cross. Louis floated three feet in front of him above the alter, his semi-transparent head at eye level. Dean panted with pain, fear and trepidation of what was to come, he didn't have to wait long to find out.

His body no longer under his control, was a good imitation of a puppet without visible strings as first his right arm and then his left were pulled up and out away from his sides to rest along the horizontal bar of cross, palms facing outwards. The pain in his shoulder causing him to cry out, he could fell the warmth and sticky flow of blood leaking from the busted stitches, his t-shirt soaking up the blood and clinging to his shoulder and chest. Now Louis' speech, _'You will suffer as Jesus was made to suffer'_ made sense, Louis was going to crucify him and there wasn't a damned thing Dean could do to stop him. _Hurry up Sam! Please little brother, save me._

Unable to bear looking at spirit's face for any longer, Dean closed his eyes; the shattering of glass caused them to open straight back up drawn in the direction of the loud sound, Father Harper's wall mounted glass knife cabinet had exploded outwards a myriad of splintered shards of glass sailed through the air falling to earth on the pews and floor with a musical tinkle.

-- SI --

Sam flipped on the light switch beside the basement door, the light was far too inadequate for such a large area, illuminating only the center of the huge room, almost as big as the church above, with stone walls and a high stone ceiling, it was cluttered with all sorts of items. On Sam's left was an incinerator, in these days of recycle, reuse, regenerate it sat there like the preserved skeleton of an extinct dinosaur. Next to that was a gas heating system insulated pipes snaking from it up the rough stone wall to carry heat to the church above. Against the wall opposite was garden equipment an ancient lawnmower a rusty gas can, a garden rake and hedge trimmers and other gardening paraphernalia next to that was a work bench with an array of tools neatly spaced on the wall.

Sam moved further into the basement, to his right was a clutter of broken furniture and religious statues, an angel with a broken wing, a headless Virgin Mary. Two broken church pews, an old scarred desk tipping at an odd angle due to a missing foot. Hidden behind some of the cluttered together items Sam thought he saw the outline of a door in the stone wall behind. This has got to be what he was looking for another entrance into the church. Shoving the angel and the big heavy desk out of the way, Sam was relieved to discover it was a door and it was latched but not padlocked. Behind the door Sam found a small recessed stairwell, like a stairwell leading to the turrets of an ancient castle, with stone walls and a stone spiral staircase leading upward in an anti-clockwise direction.

Sam charged up the narrow stairs much too quickly for the small amount of light in the stairwell, but he had to get to Dean. Reaching the top when his head banged against the roof, Sam guessed it was the floor of the church. For a horrifying moment Sam thought it was a dead end. _No, no, no, this has to be a way in._

Reaching the hand not holding the gun above his head he felt at the stone above him, running the tips of his fingers over the rough stone his questing fingers found a crack or split in the stone, he traced the crack with his index finger rounding four 90 degree corners a perfect square directly above his head, the angles and the line too neat and precise to be a fault in the stone. _It has to be a trap door to the church it has to be_.

Sam didn't know how long it had been since Dean was pulled through the door away from him into the arms of danger, it felt to Sam like he had been separated from Dean for a life time but was most likely only three or four minutes at most. Sam put the butt of the salt gun against the stone, pushing upwards with a strength born of worry and desperation. Nothing happened for a few seconds; Sam pushed harder bracing his feet on one of the steps below. "Move you sonofabitch, move." Channeling his brother, using one of his favorite expletives.

One side of the stone gave a fraction, Sam pushed harder on that side, his arms trembling with exertion. Suddenly the meter square of stone moved up in a rush with a grinding noise of stone on stone and years of disuse, showering him with stone chips, grit and dirt. With one more hard push on the gun Sam forced the hinged stone over. It crashed against the floor with a loud reverberating bang, shaking more debris onto his head and shoulders.

Sam mounted the last of the stairs and pulled himself through the open hole glancing around to orient himself to his location. The trap door came out where no one would even know it was there tucked behind the font of holy water near the church entrance, lifting the salt gun up he charged forward past the font and into the church.

He saw Dean and Louis right away, Louis floated in front of Dean where he had him pinned against the cross at the front of the church, Sam continued his charge forward lifting the gun higher, he needed to be closer if the gun was to be of any use and reach its intended target.

As Sam got closer he noted that Dean appeared to be unharmed, although a dark stain was spreading across the left side of Dean's t-shirt.

Louis became aware of Sam behind him, he turned in Sam's direction at the same instant Sam felt his forward momentum halted and he was lifted off his feet and flung back in the direction he'd just come. For the second time in 24 hours Sam's back was slammed hard into something this time it wasn't a street pole it was the church entrance door. The impact forced the gun out of his hand, it skittered away landing somewhere under the pews a few rows down. Momentarily winded Sam drew in a huge breath and went to push himself forward and back into the fray, but to his disbelief he found that he was unable to move, Louis was holding him firm against the old wooden door.

Sam heard Dean shout out. "Sammy." Even in his dire predicament he was concerned for his brother.

"Dean I can't move." Sam shouted back.

Louis turned back to Dean assured Sam would not interfere again.

Sam could only watch in horror at what happened next.

-- SI --

As Louis turned back to face him Dean knew there was no way to prevent what was to come, his wild card – Sam, had been taken out of the game.

Dean still struggled in vain against the invisible bindings, knowing it was useless but he couldn't give up without some sort of a fight.

The icy cold air hit Dean again; it cooled the sweat on the hot skin of his face. Dean's eyes were drawn to what was left of the knife cabinet as the knives still mounted on the wall started to vibrate and shake. One of the knives took on a life of its own as it flew across the church straight at Dean, with the accuracy of a knife throwing magician it pierced the palm of Dean's left hand pinning it to the cross, Dean gasped in shock and pain, the pain was superseded by pain in the other hand as another knife flew through the air and with the same accuracy of the first pinned the other hand in the same way.

A spasm passed through Dean's fingers on his left hand causing the knife blade to grind against the bone and sinew.

Louis was not finished yet. Dean heard his quiet breathing close to his face. "Repent your sins James and God will forgive you." Louis whispered. Dean smelt death and decay on his breath as he spoke; it made him want to gag. _Who would have thought spirits could have bad breath that's a new one._

Dean opened his eyes not sure when he had closed them; he stared hard into those cold hard eyes unable to come up with something witty and clever, so he remained silent, hoping the look in his own eyes spoke for him. He continued to return Louis' stare.

In the background Dean could here Sam yelling his words muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. "NO, NO, DEEEAN. LET HIM GO YOU SONOFABITCH, **HE'S – NOT - JAMES" **With emphasis on the last three words.

_You tell 'im Sammy, not that it'll make a difference._

Dean felt blood from his impaled flesh running along the underside of his forearms gathering at his elbows before soundlessly dripping to floor nine feet below.

"If you won't repent, your suffering will continue until God considers your penance is paid, James."

Through the pain Dean managed to say. "Shouldn't… that be… when you…. consider it paid… God…. has nothing… to do… with this."

The icy wind continued to swirl around him.

Louis' stony expression changed to one of anger as from his left Dean saw another knife launched towards him. He braced himself for pain. The knife passed through the furious spirit into the flesh of Dean's right side above the hip through to the wood beneath. Dean couldn't hold back an anguished cry as pain shot up his spine into his brain threatening burst out the top of his skull.

In the background he thought he heard Sam cry out, but he couldn't be sure.

"Repent your sins against God, James." Louis yelled in Dean's face.

"Go… To… Hell." Dean said through clenched teeth, his vision started the blur as he stared Louis down.

Another knife flew across the church; it entered the thigh of his left leg, burying itself to the hilt. Dean was close to the edge of unconsciousness and only flinched at the new addition, the impact barely registering on his face.

His lack of response only fueled Louis' anger, as yet another knife left the wall this one however moved slowly eventually closing the distance to hover in front of Louis and close to Dean's face, it lined itself up with his left eye and continued to advance.

Unable to look away and through his ever diminishing vision; Dean recognized this knife it was the one that he and Sam had come here to destroy, the irony of it was not lost on Dean. Louis was going to cut his eyes out with it and Sam was going to see it happen, pinned to the church door helpless to stop it.

The knife stopped its advance about a centimeter from its target and hovered there. For what seemed like an age, then with out warning it fell away landing at the base of the cross.

Louis was no longer looking at him he had turned away looking down at the foot of the steps. He was staring at the figure that was materializing there.

It was the spirit of James, dressed in the tuxedo he wore the night of his murder, his green eyes looked sadly at Dean and then he looked back to his Father who seemed puzzled by his appearance. Louis said one word. "James?"

"Yes Father it's me, you must stop this, it's you who needs redemption, you have murdered innocent people, this is not God's will, God does not condone murder you must let these men go."

James' words had some effect on his fathers spirit as Dean felt the force against his body release, he slumped down and would have fallen to the floor at the base of the cross, but the knives pinning his arms and side held him in place preventing gravity from taking over, the pull and pain of his unsupported body weight on his tortured impaled flesh tipping Dean over the edge into darkness.

**TBC**

**As expected things never go smoothly for The Winchester Brothers. **

**Can James stop his Father before it's too late for Dean?**

**Thanks for reading.**


	9. Chapter 9

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and most definitely no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA, **_heavy sigh!)

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

Thanks for all the reviews and the new story alerts; I'm pleased you're all enjoying my story.

Thanks as always to my beta _**Ms Okie Dokie.**_

**Chapter 9**

_**Cathedral of John the Baptist Catholic Church – Savannah, Georgia**_

Horrified, Sam had watched helplessly as one after another the knives had flown across the church, into Dean. One in each palm, one in his side and one in his thigh. Sam saw the dark stain emanating from the wound in Dean's side soaking down his t-shirt and into the right leg of his jeans. Blood from the thigh wound soaked the fabric of the left leg past the knee spreading ever closer to his ankle, additions to the blood staining his shoulder and chest. Dean was still amazingly conscious.

The fifth knife had left the wall and moved slowly towards Dean to hover in front of his eye. _Oh God no. He's going to cut out his eyes. _After what felt like forever it suddenly fell to the ground, falling out of Sam's sight behind the alter. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. _Why did he stop? _Even though he was being held at a distance from Dean and his torturer, Sam could see which knife it was, the one that they had come here to destroy.

Sam thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when another ghostly figure began materialize at the end of the aisle, he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, but it was there, another spirit. Louis had turned towards it staring silently at the figure.

The new spirit was semi-transparent as was Louis but even though it had its back to him, Sam knew who it was. James Archer.

Louis' voice sounded puzzled when he said. "James?"

"Yes Father it's me, you must stop this, it's you who needs redemption, you have murdered innocent people, this is not God's will, God does not condone murder you must let these men go." James voice so like Dean's only with a southern accent echoed eerily to Sam through the swirling air.

James' words had an almost instant reaction not so much in Louis himself but in the hold he had over his body. Sam felt the pressure holding him release and he slid down the door his feet once again on the stone floor.

Before Sam could make a move forward towards the salt gun lying beneath the pews about four rows down, he saw Dean's body had slumped down against the cross. His head had dropped forward onto his chest. Sam wanted to cry out to his brother but did not want to draw attention to himself until he could get his hands on the shot gun. Sam prayed that Dean had only lost consciousness and not something worse as the torment he was suffering became too much and his brain had shut down due to the pain and blood loss.

Sam could hear the spirits raised voices but had no idea what was being said and he didn't care. From the tone of the voices Sam thought they were arguing much like the night they had all those years ago. Sprinting down the aisle faster than an Olympic athlete; he threw himself on the floor in between pews sliding the last couple of feet hand outstretched to the gun. The instant his hand contacted with the business end of the weapon he was back on his feet, turning the gun and training it on the ghostly figures thirty feet in front of him. He fired the gun without hesitation hoping he was close enough for the rock salt to reach the spirits who had not noticed him, their intense focus on each other.

Louis and James were still staring each other down, when the salt shell hit them exploding in a shower of white. They dissipated and were gone before the salt reached the ground. That was the result he had hoped for.

Seconds later Sam was standing in front of Dean kicking the knife lying at the base of the cross away in disgust before reaching out a tentative hand to Dean touching him on leg, not sure how the hell he was gonna get him down, even at 6 foot 4 there was no way Sam could reach up that far to release Dean from the cross.

Bordering on panic Sam looked around the only thing near enough that he could stand on to reach his brother was the alter.

Sam swept the things laid out on top on the floor, with a strength born of anxiety he man-handled the large heavy alter against the cross, before leaping on top of it, bringing his head level with Dean's bowed head. The toes of Dean's boots brushed the top of the alter. He put a hand under Dean's chin and lifted his head he needed to see his face to assure himself his brother was still breathing.

To Sam's relief Dean breathed in, a gasping sound filled with pain and his eyes moved under his closed lids, his long lashes fluttered and opened slowly the green eyes looking back at Sam dull and unfocused.

"Hey Dean you with me?" Sam asked quietly.

"I'll get back to you on that." Dean replied weakly, blinking twice at Sam before he looked over Sam's shoulder towards where Louis and James had stood, "Where are they?"

"Gone for now, but they'll be back…. I'm gonna get you down now, okay?"

"Bout time I was getting bored hanging around here."

Sam gave a snort of amusement, before saying. "Dean, ever the wise-crackin' smart ass," he glanced at Dean, serious now, saying, "Ready?"

Dean gave a barely there nod, "Ready as I'll ever be."

-- SI --

The first thing Dean became aware of was pain, it assaulted him from every direction, he drew in a ragged breath, which only intensified the pain. The second thing was something big and warm was cradling and supporting his chin, with great effort he forced his eyes open, there was someone in front of him a face swimming in and out of focus before it cleared, and sharpened on Sam's face close to his own, his brows drawn together, blue/green eyes filled with worry.

"Hey Dean you with me?" He asked.

"I'll get back to you on that." His voice sounded weak even to himself. _If Sam's free, where are Louis and James?_ He blinked a couple of times trying to sharpen his eyesight further. He tried to see over Sam's broad shoulder looking to the spot the two spirits had stood. "Where are they?" He asked some strength returning to his voice.

"Gone for now, but they'll be back," Sam's eyes slid up to the knife in Dean's hand and then across to the other one, "I'm gonna get you down now, okay?"

"Bout time I was getting bored hanging around here." Dean said trying to relieve some of the fear and tension he saw in Sam's face.

It worked to some degree, Sam gave a snort of amusement, saying. "Dean, ever the wise-crackin' smart ass," pausing before glancing at him then asking, "Ready?"

Dean gave a small nod, "Ready as I'll ever be."

Sam looked at the knives protruding from Dean and didn't know which one to remove first, then decided to start with the one in his side; as that was the one that was in the most dangerous position close to internal organs. He grasped the handle firmly in both hands, drew in a breath and pulled hard, Dean let out a groan of pain as the knife pulled free, more blood soaking the material around the ragged hole the knife had left in Dean's t-shirt. Dean's body dropped down until his feet were now on the alter, which put more drag on his impaled hands. He couldn't hold back another cry as more pain shot up his arms to his shoulders and down his spine, causing his legs to jerk spasmodically. His whole body was trembling and shaking uncontrollably.

Sam exhaled and threw the bloody knife from his now blood covered hands down onto the floor with disgust. He decided to tackle the knives in Dean's hands next leaving the thigh until last.

Sam wiped his bloody hands down the sides of his jeans before he braced his shoulder against his brother's chest pulling out first one then the other, Dean's hands fell limply to his sides as each one was freed. Sam felt Dean lean heavily into him, too heavily; he'd lost consciousness as the second knife came free. The knives went the same way as the first one. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean, locked together in what probably resembled some kind of macabre dance, Sam lowered Dean's limp heavy body awkwardly onto the alter and from there onto the floor.

Sam looked around for something to help stem the flow of blood from Dean's side the discarded alter cloth lay in a crumpled heap to one side, Sam grabbed a hold of it wading up one end into a ball pushing it underneath Dean, between the exit wound and the floor, he lifted Dean's ruined bloody t-shirt waded the other end of the alter cloth and applied pressure against the wound the white cloth turned red almost instantly.

The knife in Dean's thigh was harder to extract than the others, it might have had to do with the fact that Sam could only use one hand the other was occupied keeping pressure on the side wound. It was deeply embedded in the quadriceps muscle of Dean's thigh. In the first attempt Sam's bloody hand slipped off the knife as he pulled, Sam was glad Dean was unconscious at that stage, because it would have hurt like a bitch. He grasped the knife again, his grip this time so hard he felt his fingers were going to break. The knife came out with a spurt of blood, splattering both of them with more blood.

Throwing the knife away from him like it was a burning hot poker; one handed Sam stripped off his belt, slid it under Dean's bleeding thigh and pulled it tight, almost instantly the blood flow slowed. As Sam went back to using two hands against Dean's side, Dean moaned and his head moved weakly from side to side.

When Dean opened his eyes after passing out for the second time, he knew straight away he was no longer pinned to the cross; there was a hard surface beneath him and the high vaulted ceiling of the church above him, he had pain in his hands and leg and pressure on his side, he rolled his eyes from the ceiling to Sam who was applying the pressure, kneeling next to him, his face still drawn with worry.

"Sam leave me, you gotta destroy the knife, before Louis comes back." Dean's voice was barely a whisper; Sam had to strain to hear him.

Sam shook his head, saying. "No Dean I gotta get you outta here."

"Sam, no do it now and this will be over, please Sam do it now." Dean pleaded with him, before he added in typical Dean fashion, "I'll still be here when you come back."

Dean was right. Sam knew it. "Okay, keep pressure on here." Sam took Dean's right hand by the wrist and lay the bleeding palm against the waded up alter cloth, "As hard as you can."

Sam quickly located the knife he wanted and the salt gun, fully re-loading it with a shell from his pocket and going back to Dean who had managed to drag his bloody body a short distance and was leaning his back against the alter facing out into the church.

Sam hesitated, looking at his battered and bleeding brother he felt a moment of panic, _how can I leave him like this? _Then he saw the determined set of Dean's mouth and the panic passed. _If Dean can do this, so can I._

As gently as he could Sam wrapped Dean's also bleeding left hand around the shot gun and placed his finger in the trigger, saying. "Just in case you know who comes back before I do."

"The lighter's in my pocket." Sam took the lighter from Dean's jeans pocket and pushed it into his own.

He patted Dean on the shoulder, saying. "Don't go away, I'll be right back." Before he stood up and turned away.

He'd only got to the bottom of the steps when Dean's voice stopped him. "Hey Sam," he turned back towards his brother.

"What?"

"Bring me back a Pizza, extra cheese."

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head is disbelief, before again turning away.

Dean leaned his head back against the alter all pretense of humor and strength gone. He was fading fast and hoped he could remain conscious long enough to keep Louis at bay before Sam finished the job.

With the knife clutched in his hand covered in his brother's blood, Sam ran to the church door to get the gas can Dean had left outside when Louis had dragged him into the church. Still the door wouldn't open; somehow Louis still had the doors bared; now he was keeping Sam in instead of keeping him out. Turning away from the door Sam looked around for something else he could use as accelerant, his eyes fell on the font and the ominous black square of the trap door beyond it leading to the basement. His mind going at a frantic pace trying to remember if he'd seen anything down there that would do the job. Then he remembered the lawn mower and the rusty can of gas, he ran to the trapdoor and lowered himself down into the darkness.

From his elevated position on the dais, Dean thought blood loss had made him delirious when Sam suddenly disappeared from sight, it looked like he'd been absorbed into the floor, but he didn't have long to dwell on it as Louis started to materialize at the bottom of the steps.

Louis looked straight at Dean, propped up against the alter then he commenced to glide soundlessly up the stairs, Dean lifted the salt gun when Louis stood directly in front of him. Before Louis could do or say anything he squeezed the trigger, even that small amount of movement of his fingers caused pain to shoot up his arm. The report of the shot gun echoed in the cavernous church, the salt hit Louis in the chest and he was gone, again. Dean let the gun fall to his side; it was suddenly so heavy, he couldn't hold it up.

Now Dean waited, pressing the cloth Sam had put there against the wound in his side, he could feel warmth at the back of the wound as blood flowed from that side as well. In his mind Dean willed Sam to hurry and destroy the knife before Louis returned for a third time or he blacked out.

Sam hurried down the spiral stairs and into the basement, going straight for the rusty can, he quickly unscrewed the lid and the smell of gas filled his nostrils, from above Sam heard the sound of the shotgun being fired, the sound muffled by the floor of the church, that could only mean one thing Louis had returned.

Sam looked about for a suitable place to burn the knife without setting fire to the basement which contained a lot of flammable material. His eyes fell on the incinerator; although old and disused it would contain the fire.

Sam pulled down the handle and pulled the old door open with such force it nearly came off in his hand, he threw the knife in and then remembered the salt filled shells in his pocket he pulled out a couple and the lighter and preceded to break open one of the shells, one ear listening for any sounds from the church. Breaking open the shell was harder than he thought it would be, when the shell at last came apart he sprinkled the salt over the knife, one shell would have to be enough, he couldn't afford the time to break open a second shell, he poured the gas over the knife liberally and put the half empty can back away from the incinerator flicked the lighter, nothing happened no flame not even a spark.

The next time Louis returned Dean had no warning; Louis just appeared, up close and in his face. Dean tried to push himself backwards away from the spirit, but flush up against the alter he had nowhere to go. As Dean attempted to lift the shot gun it flew from the loose grip of his hand and landed several feet away well out of reach.

Louis continued to stare at him those cold gray eyes so hate filled and dead, which wasn't surprising seeing as the man had been dead for ninety years.

Dean was now so weak he couldn't protect himself even if he had the weapon to do it. Louis lifted the knife high, over Louis' shoulder Dean saw movement, someone was there behind Louis as the knife began its deadly descent the spirit was grabbed around the waist from behind and dragged backwards away from Dean.

Dean looked on helplessly as James' spirit fought with that of his father. Louis struggled to release James' hold on him and James was trying to keep his father away from Dean.

Louis growled low in his throat as he stabbed blindly backward with the knife into James' spirit, trying to break his hold, but the knife passed harmlessly through James again and again.

"No father I will not let you kill again." James said through clenched teeth.

"Let me go, it is God's will." Louis was trying to twist out of James' grip.

"No not God's will yours."

Sam flicked the lighter again and again, nothing he shook it and tried again still nothing it was dead. Sam threw it down onto the floor in frustration; he patted at his jeans hoping for something he felt more salt shells and then something else small, square and soft. _Could it be? _

He breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled out a match book, he'd put it in his pocket at the bar the night before, _how could I have forgotten?_ He'd wasted all this time with the god-damned useless lighter. His hands were shaking as he pulled off a match, struck it and threw it onto the knife. A burst of flame erupted inside the incinerator quickly engulfing the knife.

The spirits continued to struggle, and it seemed to Dean to be in slow motion, but it could have been because he was on the verge of once again losing consciousness his breathing came in pants, his heartbeat pounding in his head as his body tried to circulate his quickly diminishing blood supply to his organs.

The slow motion struggle in front of him reminded him of that night in Wyoming in the cowboy cemetery, the night the Devil's gate was opened up, when his father had climbed out of hell and grappled with the yellow-eyed demon, preventing him from killing him. Now it was the spirit of James Archer grappling with his Father's spirit as he tried to stop him from doing the same thing.

Without warning the spirits still locked together in a battle for control burst into flames and dissipated the air where they had been a moment before shimmered with the residue heat of the flames and then everything was still and quiet. It was over. At least Dean hoped it was.

A curtain of darkness was descending over his vision, and Dean no longer had the strength to hold himself upright, his upper body slid sideways against the alter coming to rest between the bottom of the alter and the floor, the black curtain had finished it's descent and all sight and sound ceased. He did not see Sam emerge from the trapdoor and run towards him, he did not hear Sam screaming his name.

**TBC**

**Louis Archer's spirit has finally been banished. **

**Will Sam be able to help Dean survive the torture Louis inflicted on him?**

**All reviews are greatly appreciated.**

**Thanks for reading.**

_**Silvertayl**_


	10. Chapter 10

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**STORY SUMMARY:**

**In Savannah Georgia, a pattern of murders is repeated every 29 years. Dean and Sam suspect a vengeful spirit is responsible. As they uncover the facts behind the spirits actions; it becomes clear that one of the brothers is destined to become the spirits next victim; will they be able to stop the cycle of death, before it's too late for one of the Winchester Brothers? **

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter. If I have not responded to your reviews it's because only 1 or 2 of them are coming through to my inbox. (I don't know why?) So unless you have an email address posted at Fan Fic I am unable to respond. Sorry to the reviewers I missed, but please don't let that put you off leaving a review, I love reviews, good, bad or indifferent.**

**For all you hurt Dean and protective/worried/angsty Sam this chapter is for you!!**

**Thanks as always to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.**

**Chapter 10**

_**Cathedral of John the Baptist Catholic Church – Savannah, Georgia**_

When Sam emerged from the trapdoor his eyes went straight to the front of the church where he'd left Dean. He was alarmed to see him slumped down on the floor, his back against the alter, and he wasn't moving.

Sam's stomach twisted with dread, fearing the worst Sam ran forward yelling out. "**DEAN, DEAN**" _God, please let him be alright. _He practically leapt up onto the dais, ignoring the stairs he kneeled down next to his very quiet, very still brother. It was so unlike Dean to be still, he was always restless always in motion.

Up close Sam could see Dean's face, his color was bad, chalky white, the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose stood out like little brown beacons. Sam pressed two shaking fingers against the pulse in Dean's throat and to his relief felt a weak, irregular and much too fast thrum against his fingertips, he had to get Dean outta here, back to the motel and get the bleeding stopped.

Sam gently tapped Dean's cheek, trying to rouse him enough so he could be of some help in getting to the car. "Dean hey Dean you gotta wake up man." Sam said, quietly but firmly.

Dean moaned low in his throat and his eyelashes quivered, before opening to reveal slits of green. "Sammy?" Dean asked weakly.

"Yeah Dean, who else would it be?" Sam answered.

"Sam you did it, Louis is gone." Sam had to lean close to hear the whispered words.

"And not a moment to soon, do you think you can stand with my help? We gotta get outta here."

Dean didn't answer; he couldn't, at that moment he didn't think he could force another word from his dry throat. He nodded his head in acquiesce.

With Sam and the alters help Dean made it to a semi upright position, hand still pressed against the alter cloth at his side. He listed heavily to port, Sam moved in on that side and supported Dean, jamming his shoulder under Dean's armpit, he pulled Dean's arm across his shoulders trying to avoid his bleeding shoulder and his bleeding hand he grasped Dean's wrist, his other hand was around Dean's back grasping Dean's jeans waistband.

It took them awhile but eventually they made it to the church door, Sam heaved a sigh of relief when he pulled on the handle and it opened with what was becoming a familiar groan, they stumbled through it and out into the now cloudy and dark night.

The last few yards down the church steps and across the sidewalk to the waiting Impala were the worst, and took the longest, as Dean was getting weaker with every passing second and leaned more and more heavily into Sam. Dean tried to help but could barely lift his feet; time and again the toes of his boots scrapped the footpath his feet felt as heavy as lead. Sam more or less dragged Dean the last few feet to the backdoor of the car.

Sam pulled open the door and maneuvered Dean around so his back was facing the seat. He began to lower Dean down onto the seat, but Dean's weight dragged Sam down with him and Sam had to stop himself from landing on Dean. The last thing Dean needed was Sam's weight on his battered body. Dean managed to pull himself further along the bench seat until his legs were inside the car that was when his last little bit of strength and determination ran out, he laid his head down against the leather, dizzy, nauseous and panting with effort.

Adrenaline pumped through Sam as he ran back up the steps and into the church, he picked up the discarded shotgun and had a quick look around to see if there was anything else of theirs lying around, nothing apart from Dean's blood; lots of Dean's blood, he was almost to the door when he saw the open trapdoor. He went to it quickly and hefted it up and over letting it fall back into place with a loud bang that echoed throughout the church. He went back outside scooping up the gas can on the run and went back to the car, he threw the can and the gun onto the floor next to Dean and with a quick glance at his brother, who Sam saw now had his eyes shut, he slammed the backdoor, opened the front door and slid behind the wheel, as the big car growled to life he peeled away from the curb with a squeal of tires, heading back to the motel.

-- SI --

_**Thunderbird Inn**_

If Sam thought it hard to get Dean from the church to the car was hard, getting him from the car into the motel room was even harder.

The short distance between the car up the steps and into the room took a hellishly long time and was made more difficult by the rain that had started to fall shortly after pulling away from the church. Sam lowered the again unconscious Dean onto nearest bed; Dean had made it as far as the door before succumbing to blood loss and pain. Any one else other than Dean would never had made it out of the car.

Sam stripped off Dean's wet and bloody t-shirt, removed his boots, loosened the belt around Dean's thigh and managed to work his jeans off, leaving Dean clad in only his boxers the blood soaked alter cloth had fallen away somewhere between the car and the room, he retightened the belt above the thigh wound which had started to bleed heavily after the belt was loosened.

Sam gathered all the clean towels from the bathroom and wet a hand towel under the faucet. He wiped away as much blood as possible from all the wounds new and old, the towel soon turned from pastel green to red. The wounds in Dean's hands didn't seem too bad and had stopped bleeding the shoulder wound from the night before had opened up, but the bleeding had slowed to an intermediate ooze. The bleeding from the thigh wound had slowed now that the tourniquet was back in place. The wound in Dean's side was the most worrying as no amount of pressure seemed to slow the bleeding from either side and blood had already soaked through the towels he had placed at the entry and exit wounds running down Dean's flank and into the comforter.

Dean's breathing was rapid and shallow; his body was trying to compensate for the lack of blood supply. Sam knew he had to stop the blood loss before Dean went into shock and his heart stopped. Stitching the wounds closed would not be enough to stop the bleeding, Sam knew what he had to do but just the thought of searing Dean's blood vessels and torn flesh closed made Sam nauseous and his hands began to shake.

Sam hesitated Dean needed a hospital, _I should call 911_, but he knew he couldn't, at any hospital stab wounds would attract to much attention and the police would have to be called. _I'll have to take care of it. _Pushing his fear down deep inside, Sam ran back down the steps through the rain to the Impala, the rain had already diluted and dispersed most of Dean's blood that had trailed them up the steps. He gathered all the things that he needed to do the job, scooping up the bloody and wet alter cloth that he found next to the car before running back up the steps.

Back in the room Sam found a small metal waste bin in the bathroom, he closed the bathroom door, the last thing he needed was too set off the smoke detector he put the remaining hand towel in the bottom soaked it with gas from the still full can placed the bin in the shower recess and lit the towel with the matches from the bar. The flames burst to life instantly. Sam shoved Dean's favorite Bowie knife into the waste bin the flames engulfed the blade.

As the knife heated Sam got the first aid kit and wrapped Dean's hands in bandages and placed a bandage over the shoulder wound he would re-stitch that wound, clean and take care of the hand wounds properly when he'd cauterized the other wounds.

The little fire had burned hot and quick and had died down but the blade glowed white hot, Sam ripped Dean's ruined bloody t-shirt in two. He placed the halves of the t-shirt and the gas can near the trash can, ready to re-ignite the fire again. He needed to keep the fire burning as he would have to reheat the blade at least once. He pulled the knife from the dying fire and went back to Dean who hadn't moved the blood staining the comforter had spread surrounded Dean's right side.

Sam sat on the edge of the bed the handle of the knife was warm in his suddenly sweaty and shaking hand, with his left hand he smoothed the damp hair away from Dean's clammy forehead, he spoke to his brother not knowing if Dean would hear and understand what he was about to do, he needed to say the words out load to reassure himself that he could go through with this to save his brothers life. He had to do it now before the knife cooled too much to sear the blood vessels closed.

"Dean, bro, I don't know if you can hear me but I need to stop this bleeding, I'm going to have to cauterize some of these wounds, It's gonna hurt like hell bro, but you'll thank me later or you'll wanna knock my teeth out, one or the other or maybe both, well here goes-"

Sam laid the flat of the blade against the entry wound in Dean's side. Dean's reaction was instantaneous his eyes shot open, he sat up like he was on a spring, mouth open wide an animalistic cry of agony erupting from deep in his throat at the sudden searing pain. He tried desperately to jerk away from the pain, but it continued unabated until the darkness claimed him yet again.

The sound of Dean's anguished, agonized cry and the smell of burning flesh almost broke Sam he gagged at the smell of barbequed flesh, almost weakened and pulled the blade away. Dean's body went limp, he fell back against the bed his eyes rolled up and his lashes fluttered closed, his head falling to the side. He had passed out, just as well as Sam still had two more wounds to take care of.

Sam lifted the knife away from the wound, the flesh where the knife had laid was blackened but the bleeding had ceased, Sam heaved a sigh of relief trying to push the nausea back down and away. _One down two to go!_

He got to his feet shakily and wobbled back into the bathroom, where he reset the fire with part of Dean's t-shirt and more gas again pushing the blade into the flames, as the blade warmed he splashed water on his face, then he turned and slid down the cool tiles of the wall and sat legs splayed out in front watching the flames, _he could finish this, he had too, Dean's life may depend on it. The first one had to be the hardest, didn't it? Please God let Dean __**not**__ wake up before I finish._

With the knife again heated, Sam went back to Dean who was still thankfully out of it, perspiration ran down his face and his cheeks were now flushed with color. Looking at the blackened flesh on Dean's side once again brought bile rising into Sam's throat. _I did that to him._

Sam had to roll Dean away from him onto his side to get to the exit wound in Dean's side; Sam silently apologized again to his brother and with only a slight hesitation laid the knife against the bleeding wound.

The blood and flesh sizzled the burning smell again rose in the air, but this time Dean didn't move or utter a sound. Sam thanked God for keeping Dean unconscious.

After removing the knife Sam let Dean's limp body roll back flat against the mattress. _Two down one to go!_

Sam repeated the process for the thigh wound, rekindling the fire using the remains of Dean's t-shirt. Dean moaned and his head moved on the pillow as Sam applied the knife, but did not wake. This was the easiest of the three and once it was over Sam removed the tourniquet above the now blackened but not bleeding wound.

Sam stumbled backwards away from the bed and Dean, he dropped the now cool knife to the carpet and then made a run for the bathroom as the nausea and sickness he'd been fighting against through the whole process overwhelmed him, he leaned over the toilet as the chicken sandwiches and coffee Hettie had prepared for them and he'd eaten and drank with relish made an encore appearance. After emptying all the contents of his stomach and Sam felt his stomach and half of digestive tract as well, Sam rinsed his mouth and splashed more water on his face before washing his hands thoroughly and going back to his brother he still had to clean and dress Dean's other wounds before he could completely fall apart.

He spread a layer of burn cream over the burns and applied light dressings, with cotton and peroxide he irrigated as best as he could the wounds in Dean's hands then wrapped them in gauze and wound bandages around them. He removed what was left of the stitches in Dean's shoulder and dabbed at it with more cotton soaked in peroxide before re-stitching it and covering it.

He removed the blood soaked towels from around Dean and pulled the comforter from the other bed up over him, noting that Dean was shivering, sweating and his teeth were chattering. Sam dumped the towels on the bathroom floor he'd deal with them later. The fire in the waste bin had gone out but Sam turned the shower on the bin just to make sure then he put the burnt, soggy, ruined bin under the vanity out of sight.

He was exhausted both physically and mentally he dragged his weary body back into the bedroom, too tired to even pull off his boots he flopped down on his bed and turned to face his brother, he needed to keep him in sight. His eye lids grew heavy insistently closing, each time he forced them open became harder and harder. _I'll rest them for just a minute._

-- SI --

Someone was talking, no not talking muttering quietly mumbling words he couldn't make any sense of. _Dean must be talking to Bobby on his cell? _"Dude, trying to sleep here." Sam said as he forced his heavy eyelids open.

Sunlight streamed in through the open curtains, and from the angle and the amount of sunlight, Sam knew not only had it stopped raining, it was afternoon; the air was humid and close. On the bed beside him Dean was laying with the comforter tangled around his feet, at some stage he had managed to kick it off. It was Dean that was muttering but he wasn't on the phone his head was tossing from side to side and his limbs moved restlessly.

As the events of last night bombarded his brain, Sam sat up too quickly, causing the sun-filled room to spin alarmingly. If it was afternoon he'd slept through what had been left of the night and all morning. "Damn it, Sam." He chastised himself. When the room had ceased to turn circles, Sam pushed off the bed went to stand beside Dean.

He looked awful, his face was unnaturally flushed and yet he was not perspiring, eyes moving rapidly under swollen lids, his fingers twitched spasmodically. Sam placed his hand against Dean's forehead and pulled it back as the heat coming from Dean almost seared the skin on his palm. "Jeezs Dean you're burning up."

Sam rummaged around in the first aid kit still open on the bedside table, he located the thermometer, he held Dean's head steady the heat radiating off Dean face again burning Sam's hand, he pushed the thermometer into his ear waiting anxiously for the beep that would tell him what he already knew Dean had a fever and most likely an infection, it was either from the knife wounds or from the amateur cauterizing he'd performed.

The beep sounded its tone sounded somehow ominous. Sam pulled it away from Dean's ear and looked twice at the readout, hardly able to believe his eyes. 104.3 _Oh God that's so not good._

He needed to cool him down and quickly. Sam laid his hand on Dean's shoulder, saying "Dean I got go out for a minute I'll be right back." Dean of course didn't answer; he seemed to have fallen into a fitful restless sleep.

Seeing as Sam had fallen asleep in his clothes he didn't need to dress, he ran from the room closing but not locking the door, he raced down the stairs and ran the half block to the 7/11. He bought snap-lock plastic bags and a five kilo bag of ice and ran back to the motel.

Reentering the room Sam was relieved to see Dean hadn't moved. He emptied the ice in the basin and filled eight of the plastic bags with ice. He placed one under each of Dean's armpits, under his knees, each side of his groin and either side of his neck. Dean was still not sweating.

Dean moaned at the sudden cold and tried to move away. "Sorry bro, I know its cold, but I gotta get your temperature down." After a few seconds Dean settled and seemed to relax a little more.

Sam looked at his watch 1.10pm he's take Dean's temperature in twenty minutes if it hadn't come down at all or God forbid gone up he would have to think about getting Dean to a hospital ASAP.

He paced the room glancing from his fevered brother to his watch when it at last said 1.30pm he took Dean's temperature again, the ice seemed to be working Dean's temp was down to 103.9, still very high but an improvement none the less.

He removed the ice bags which had melted down to tepid water, emptying them into the toilet he'd put fresh ones on in twenty minutes, twenty minutes on and twenty minutes off.

He dampened a face washer and filled a glass with water, he wiped Dean's face and neck, Dean's face was still flushed and his lips were dry and cracked, Sam thought he was probably dehydrated he should try to get him to drink some water.

Sam patted Dean's hot cheek gently trying to rouse him. "Hey Dean I need you to wake up for me."

Dean's eyes moved under closed lids and he turned his cheek into Sam's large hand as if seeking some comfort.

They must have made it back to the motel because whatever Dean was lying on was softer and better sprung than the backseat of his Baby and the smell was wrong no smell of well worn leather, the smell was floral bouquet. _So that means I'm definitely not in the car I'm in the motel, I don't remember getting up the stairs. _

Dean tried to piece together what had happened after they left the church. He remembered Sam helping him into his Baby and then…. nothing until now. No wait that's not all… little pieces of what happened after that flashed across his aching mind.

He remembered Sam practically carrying him up the stairs to their room, he had tried to help but he struggled to lift his leaden feet up from one step to the next, it was raining, he remembered that. Their door No.17 swam before his blurry eyes, then…. the next thing was pain excruciating pain in his side that made him cry out and try to shrink away from whatever or whoever was causing it. Then there was more pain but not like before, and then nothing except a few disjointed dreams were a parade of family and friends came and went, Mom, Dad, Sam, Bobby, even Pastor Jim made an appearance. He was aware of throbbing pain in various parts of his body, but the worst was the sharp stabbing pain in the right side of his lower back and the added discomfort of a full bladder, which could not be ignored for long. He hovered for a little while between waking and sleeping.

The bed dipped as someone sat down beside him and he felt a cooling sensation skim over his burning face and neck, followed by a big hand patting his cheek gently but with insistence. Then a soft voice, "Hey Dean I need you to wake up for me."

Dean turned his head into the big hand, Sam's hand now resting against his cheek. He forced his leaden eyelids open and looked into Sam's worried face, Sam smiled thinly. "Hey, how you feelin'?"

Dean worked at getting some moisture into his parched throat so he could answer. "Like I've been hit by an express train." His voice sounded like he'd been eating razor blades and felt that way as well.

Sam was still smiling when he said. "No not a train, just a few knives." Then added, "Do you think you could drink some water for me?"

"Oh yeah I'm as dry as a desert." _Still with the razor blades._

Sam supported Dean's head lifting it up from the pillow and put a glass against his lips, Dean sipped at the cooling liquid greedily before Sam pulled the glass away saying. "Just a little, if you keep it down then you can have more."

Dean lay back against the pillow, the added water he'd just ingested although not enough to quench his thirst made him more aware of his need to use the bathroom.

Sam placed the glass back on the bedside table.

Dean leaned up looking down his body at the assortment of bandages covering various parts of his body, then at his bandaged hands. "I look like a mummy."

"Yeah well you do have five stab wounds, six if you count the exit wound on your side." Sam wasn't yet ready to tell Dean what he'd done to stop the bleeding.

Dean decided his bladder couldn't wait any longer; he tried to leaver himself up on his right elbow, but fell back weakly as pain shot through his lower back.

Sam put a hand on his good shoulder saying. "Where do you think you're going?"

Dean waited for the pain to settle back to a level resembling bearable before answering. "I need to pee, if that's alright with you?"

Sam ignored Dean's snarky comment knowing Dean was hurting and frustrated at his weakness. It was good to have him awake and acting almost like his old self. "Well why didn't you say so? I would have helped you."

"I don't need help I've been going to the toilet on my own since I was three, thank you very much."

Sam stood from the bed and put his hands up in a dismissive gesture. "Okay but when you fall flat on your face or piss yourself don't say I didn't offer."

Dean tried again to leaver himself up with the same result, plus an expletive said through clenched teeth. "Sonofabitch." His face suffused with feverish heat.

Sam was back at his side in an instant. "Now will you let me help?"

"Okay, okay help me up will ya?"

Sam helped Dean into a sitting position and then swung his legs over the side of the bed, and then he braced Dean under the arms as he struggled to his feet.

The change of position made Dean's head swim, they stood beside the bed with Dean taking in gulps of air until it passed, then slowly made their way to the bathroom and to the toilet.

"I can manage from here." Dean said as Sam hovered in the doorway.

"You sure? You might fall?" Sam said anxiously.

"Dude, I'll be fine." Dean answered with as much strength as he could muster.

"Alright I'll be outside the door if you need me." Sam went out the door pulling it almost closed behind him but not quite.

He'd only just pushed his boxers down when it burst forth like rain water bursting from the spillway of a dam, Dean sighed in relief, when he'd emptied his over-strained bladder his legs had begun to shake from the effort of simply standing. He leaned over to push the button, his eyes drawn down to the bowl, the water in the bowl was a pinky/red, Dean swallowed, he knew what this was, blood, he had blood in his urine, something inside was damaged by one of the knives, probably a kidney and that was so not good.

As he stood there trembling and shaking uncontrollably, Dean pondered if he should say something to Sam, but Sam would insist on taking him to a hospital. If he didn't say anything then he would die sooner rather than later from internal injuries, he wasn't ready to die, to leave Sam alone. He knew what he had to do; he had to risk a hospital and all the questions and repercussions that went with it.

"Umm Sam I think I've got a problem." Dean said as he shakily pulled up his boxers.

Sam must have been plastered to the door as he had it open in a flash. "What, what's wrong?"

"It might be easier if I show you."

"Show me what, what is it?" Sam came to stand beside Dean taking his elbow as he swayed into him alarmingly.

"I'm bleeding." Sam's eyes scanned Dean looking for which of the wounds had opened up. "Look in the toilet." Dean's head was spinning again nausea churned in his stomach, his skin felt like it was on fire he was so hot, the sharp pain in his back just never ceased and to add insult to injury he was going to pass out again. He leaned against Sam seeking an anchor knowing Sam was there to catch him before he tumbled down onto the tiled floor.

Through his blurred swirling vision he saw Sam lean forward and look down into the bowl his look of confusion turned quickly to one of horror strangely mixed with understanding. Sam was saying something. _Strange Sam sounds like he's a long ways away but he's right here, I can feel his hand gripping my elbow._ "Oh god Dean we need too get you to a hospital."

As Dean had known, Sam caught him before his battered pain racked body hit the floor.

**TBC**

**Oh boy, Dean's in a bad way. **

**Don't you just love it?**

**Thanks for reading, please leave a review, thanks.**


	11. Chapter 11

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing _**much**_ and _**most**_ definitely no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_heavy sigh!)

Thanks for all the reviews of chapter 10; and for all the new story alerts. It makes me happy that you guys are enjoying my story.

More hurt Dean in this chapter and the brothers get help from an unexpected source.

The beta for this chapter is as always Ms Okie Dokie. (Check out her story_**: MISSING **_also posted here.)

**Chapter 11**

_**Thunderbird Inn – Savannah, Georgia**_

Sam could feel the heat rolling off Dean in waves as he lowered him gently to the bathroom floor; he left Dean there and retrieved the thermometer. He could tell without the ominous beep that Dean's fever had risen again; the thermometer confirmed that; 104.5 it was higher than before he'd applied the ice. He had to call 911 now. Sam went back into the bedroom as he reached for his phone lying discarded on the table, it started to ring, causing Sam to jump and pull his hand back. Whoever it was he would have to cut it short. He snatched up the phone, the screen revealed a number that he was unfamiliar with he pressed connect and almost screamed into the phone. "**HELLO" **

The male voice on the other end asked hesitantly. "Sam?"

"Yeah who is this and what do you want?" Sam answered angrily, he didn't have time for this.

"It's Matthew, Matthew Archer… Sam is something wrong?" He said picking up on the worry lacing Sam's voice.

"Yeah you could say that, I don't mean to be rude but this is a bad time."

"I was just wondering why you and Dean didn't come back to finish up in the basement."

"Oh right the basement; sorry I meant to ring you, I, we, got sorta side-tracked, we located the knife elsewhere."

"And it's been destroyed?"

"Yeah it's gone."

"So it's all over, Louis is gone and the killing is over?"

"Yes it's over." _But if you only knew the terrible cost. _Sam shot a look towards the bathroom. "Matthew I really have to go."

"Before you hang up, one question, you found the knife at the church, didn't you?"

Sam was surprised. "How did you know that?"

"I went to Sunday mass this morning, Father Harper was very upset and all in a fluster he said he'd just finished cleaning up in the church seems someone broke into the church last night, smashed his knife cabinet, made an awful mess, one of his knives is missing, the knife he told me my father donated to his collection when I was still in short pants."

"Did Father Harper call the police?" Sam held his breath hoping the answer was no. If it was yes then getting Dean to a hospital would be even riskier.

"I figured out what had happened, I convinced him not too, told him I'd donate another one to replace it. I also wrote a sizable check to the church run shelter for the homeless that was enough to convince him."

"Thank you."

"No Sam thank you, my family and all of Savannah owe you and Dean a lot more than that."

"It's what we do, all in a days work."

"Sam are you and Dean alright?" Matthew's voice held a note of concern.

Sam looked again towards the bathroom all he could see was the lower half of Dean's unmoving legs. "Why do you ask?"

"Father Harper also told me he found blood in the church, a lot of blood, he thought one of the thieves cut himself on the broken glass, or was stabbed with the knives."

Sam had forgotten about the blood. "That was Dean's blood."

"I thought so, does he need help, medical help?"

"Yeah he does that's why I have to go I need to call for an ambulance."

"No Sam don't do that, I can help you, where are you staying I'm going to send someone to you, a doctor a family friend."

Sam's mind was going at a hundred miles an hour. _Can I trust Matthew Archer? If I do it would mean no hospital and no questions._

"Sam… Sam are you still there?" Sam could here Matthew's anxious voice coming down the line.

In the end the decision was easy. "We're at The Thunderbird Inn, corner of West Oglethorpe Avenue and Papy Street, room 17."

"I know where that is, I'll call him now, he should be there within the hour." Without another word Matthew hung up.

"Hurry." Sam's voice quavered, the one word spoken in quiet desperation down the disconnected line.

-- SI --

With a deal of great difficulty and taking longer than Sam would have liked he managed to get Dean up off the bathroom floor into the bedroom and onto the bed. Dean was heavy and although shorter than Sam he was all muscle and in his current condition a dead weight.

Sam took a few seconds to get his breathe back before going back to the bathroom and refilling the snap-lock bags with ice and positioning them in the same spots as before. Twenty minutes on twenty minutes off, God willing the doctor would be here before the next twenty minutes was up.

Sam paced the room for the first ten minutes then sitting on the bed he ran his hands through his hair before resting his head in his hands elbows on his knees, Dean's panting breathing the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. After another couple of minutes Sam lifted his head and looked at Dean across the short distance between the beds.

Dean looked so ill, so vulnerable and he seemed some how smaller and younger, not at all like his big, strong and protective brother. He hadn't moved since Sam had laid him there his breathing was fast and labored, his face was still flushed contrasting sharply with the dark bruised looking skin under his eyes and he still wasn't sweating. Every now and then a muscle twitched in his jaw, sometimes his lips moved like he was speaking silently and his eyes moved rapidly under closed lids. Probably suffering terrifying fever dreams fighting off who knew what or being chased by every evil thing he had ever faced.

Sam looked from his watch to the door willing the doctor to knock. _Come on, come on, please hurry._

Sam went back into the bathroom re-wet the face washer, he again wiped down Dean's flushed face and neck, Dean turned into Sam's hand as if even in his fevered unconscious state he was seeking the small amount of cooling comfort it provided. It was time to take the ice away when the knock finally came Sam was up off the bed and at the door open before the knock had died away.

Pulling the door open with more force than was necessary, Sam's mouth fell open when the man standing there took a step forward filling the doorway his shadow falling across Sam and blocking out the late afternoon sunlight.

He looked to be around his mid to late fifties, he was a big bear of a man solid and tall, taller by inches than Sam, the top of his head just clearing the top of the door jamb his shoulders encased in a worn tweed jacket almost touched the door frame on either side. Over-long curly blond hair framed his round face and hung down across his brow to his pale blue eyes in unruly ringlets, it caught on his protruding ears, giving the impression he was wearing blond ear muffs. Sam involuntarily took a step backwards away from the giant.

It was then he smiled and his face lit up with warmth the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled into laughter lines that told Sam one thing, he smiled a lot. He shifted the worn, brown leather medical bag from one hand to the other reaching forward he encompassed Sam's hand in a firm punishing grip. Sam's own hand disappeared; the man had hands as big as ham hocks.

"I'm Oliver Bradstreet, you must be Sam, Matthew Archer sent me, said your brother needed immediate medical attention." His voice was deep and reminded Sam of James Earl Jones. He continued the shaking, the vibration running up Sam's arm causing his head and shoulders to shake in unison.

Sam managed to extricate his bloodless hand from the man's grip, fighting the urge to shake some feeling back into it. He stood aside to allow the man entry saying. "Yes thank you for coming so quickly."

Dr. Bradstreet shuffled through the door, his big body swaying from side to side. He saw Dean on the bed and went straight to him. He placed his bag on the floor beside the bed, his demeanor changed from shabby and bumbling to medical professional in a flash, he started to examine Dean; he placed a large palm against Dean's forehead then lifted Dean's eyelid, that's when Sam noticed the doctor's frayed cuffs and the patched elbows on his well loved jacket. He spoke to but didn't look at Sam. "Tell me what happened."

While Dr. Bradstreet continued his thorough and competent examination, Sam ran through how Dean received his injuries and how Sam had treated them and cauterized the worst of them to stop the bleeding. The doctor ummed and arred, seemingly not at all surprised by the strange tale. The doctor checked all of Dean's wounds; he took Dean's pulse, blood pressure and temperature mumbling to himself. "Pulse rapid pressure's low and temps 104.2 not good not good, the ice, the ice is good."

When Sam got to the part about how Dean had pissed blood before he had collapsed, he tutt tutted and shook his head his blond curls bouncing back and forth with the movement.

He reached into his bag and pulled out an IV line and bag containing clear liquid he inserted an IV port into the crook of Dean's elbow, avoiding the back of his hands due to the stab wounds, he taped it in place and started the line, he looked around the room and then removed a picture hanging on the wall in between the two beds, he placed the IV bag on the picture hook and then turned to Sam giving him his diagnosis. "Well Sam you cauterizing the wounds and applying ice packs probably saved his life, but… your brother, Dean is it?" Sam nodded, "Is a very sick man, the blade to the side nicked his right kidney, that's why he has blood in his urine. He has a very high fever and a major infection raging through his body, I'm not sure where exactly the infection is coming from, could be the wounds or the cauterizing, he needs IV antibiotics and I'll have to operate to repair the tear in the kidney, I've started him on IV fluids but we need to transfer him to my clinic as soon as possible."

Dr. Bradstreet began to throw his bits and pieces back in his bag at the same time he spoke to Sam. "Is that your Impala downstairs?"

"Dean's its Dean's." Sam said puzzled by the question.

"Nice car, go and open the back door, we'll lay him on the back seat."

"You're not going to call an ambulance?"

"Matthew said you needed none of that kind of involvement, so no, unless you want me to?"

"Doctor my brother… is he going to be alright."

The doctor turned and looked Sam in the eye. "I won't lie to you it's going to be touch and go, but he's a fighter I can see that, he's survived this far, where there's life there's hope." Then he turned back to Dean.

Without another word and a silent thank you to Matthew Archer he did as the doctor had asked. The day was nearly done and night was closing in. Sam could clearly see the doctor's car parked directly behind the Impala it was a very old powder blue Mercedes and looked as shabby and unkempt as its owner. Sam opened the rear door of Dean's Baby, hearing the familiar creak of old hinges then ran back up the stairs taking them two at a time.

Dr. Bradstreet had removed the ice bags from around Dean they sat in a heap next to the bed he had Dean sitting up ready for transferring to the car. Dean's head was lolling onto his chest; he was groaning and seemed to waking. Dr Bradstreet was sitting on the side of the bed attempting to pull the comforter around Dean's near naked body.

Sam went to the other side to help. Dean's head lifted and his fevered, glassy green eyes opened, they rolled once then focused on Sam. "Sammeeee... that… you?"

"Yeah Dean who else would it be?" Sam said with a twist of his lips.

"Sammeeee… I… don't…. feel…. good… my… head… hurts." The words were spoken slowly with a panting breath in between each word.

"Only your head? Well Doctor Bradstreet's here now and he's going to help."

"Who's… doctor… Badseat?"

"It's Dr. Bradstreet and he's right here." Sam nudged his head in the doctor's direction as he held Dean upright using the ends of the comforter pulled tight in front of him.

Dean's gaze moved to the doctor, studying him though half closed lids before he smiled and said. "Hey… Doc… you… look… like… a blond… Wookie."

Sam looked at the doctor apologetically, saying, "Sorry he gets like this when he has a fever."

Dr. Bradstreet gave a deep chuckle saying, "I've been called worse," then to Dean, "And it's a pleasure to meet you too, Dean." He scooped up his bag from beside him and added, "Let's get you into the car, shall we?"

"Hey… Sam… he… sounds… like… Darth… Vader," then what the doctor had said seemed to sink into his fevered brain. "Where… are we… going?" Dean frowned at Sam, puzzled.

"The doctor's clinic, so he can help you." Sam answered, patiently.

"You… coming… too?"

"Of course, you're not going without me."

Dean moaned when between them they lifted him from the bed then went limp; his head fell forward onto his chest. "Sam get the IV bag." Sam took the IV bag from the hook and held it up as best as he could while trying to support Dean on one side whilst trying to avoid the wounds and the IV port. Wrapped in the comforter and wearing only a pair of black boxers Dean hung between them like a sack of grain. They bumbled through the doorway sideways. Sam shut the door on the disheveled room behind him by using his foot. The **PLEASE DO NOT CLEAN ROOM **sign was out so no one would have to come into the room while they were gone. Dew had fallen making the steps slimy and dangerous, making it even more tricky to get down the stairs without one or all of them slipping and taking a tumble headlong to the concrete at the bottom. Dean's bare feet dragged over the edge of each step, more scraps to add to his long list of injuries.

Eventually they made it to the bottom with no major drama just the odd stumble or two. When they reached the Impala they settled Dean along the backseat still wrapped in the comforter. Dr. Bradstreet opened the window closest to Dean's head a little way and put the top of the IV bag against the inside top of the doorframe then closed the window against it to hold it above Dean so it would continue to flow much needed fluids into Dean for the journey to the clinic.

Dr. Bradstreet fished around in his jacket pocket producing a dog-eared business card, he thrust it towards Sam. "Here's the address, I'm going to go on ahead and get things ready."

Sam took the card from his outstretched hand looking at it stupidly, before the doctors voice sounded loudly. "Drive carefully and not too fast I don't want him bumped any more than is necessary," When Sam didn't answer and continued looking at the card he said still in the same loud tone, "Sam pay attention this is important."

He sounded like their father. Sam snapped to attention looking back at the doctor, before saying. "Yes sir."

"Good." Dr. Bradstreet nodded his head once picked up his bag and turned towards the Mercedes; Sam watched as he folded himself behind the wheel, he reversed away from the Impala and pulled the old car out of the motel car park with a flick of one taillight, the other was out.

Dr. Oliver Bradstreet was like no doctor the Winchester Brothers had ever encountered before, an unusual man with a calm kindly demeanor an old car and it seemed a lead foot.

Sam got into the Impala turned on the interior light looked at the address on the card and reached for the crumpled map of Savannah on the dash. He quickly made a mental note of the route and street names he needed to take to get from the motel to the address. He glanced over his shoulder at his brother, saying, "Hang in there bro." Before following in the path of the old Mercedes out of the car park.

**TBC**

**Can Dr. Bradstreet help Dean or has help come too late?**

**Thanks for reading, please leave a review and let me know what you think.**


	12. Chapter 12

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**Thanks to all who read and reviewed the last chapter.**

**I'm apologizing in advance for any mistakes in the medical stuff in this chapter as I am not in the medical field, so apologies if it's all wrong.**

**Thanks to my beta Ms Okie Dokie. **

**Chapter 12**

_**Savannah, Georgia**_

Sam drove as fast as he dared, whilst keeping the journey as smooth as possible. After fifteen minutes he pulled up outside the address on the card. He looked from the card to the number on the house he had stopped in front of, he had the right place, but the large two story house didn't look like a medical clinic, Sam could have sworn that even in the dark it looked like it was painted… _Pink?_ The porch light was on and the front door was open spilling more light out into the night.

A figure was momentarily silhouetted in the doorway blocking the light from inside, leaving Sam in no doubt he was in the right place, because the figure could only be that of Oliver Bradstreet. The figure left the doorway and came towards the car. Sam was out of the car and had the back door open before the doctor reached the sidewalk.

Nothing was said as they maneuvered the still unconscious Dean from the car and into the house, Sam again balancing the IV bag they made their way slowly down the hallway and into a room towards the back of the house. The room was set up for surgery with a stainless steel operating table and over head light, the room had one other occupant a tiny little woman under five feet and dressed in multi-colored hospital gown arranging a cloth covered tray laden with a variety of surgical instruments. At their entrance she closed the doors behind them.

"On the table." Dr. Bradstreet said.

They laid Dean on the table his head lolled to one side his breathing was still fast and shallow and immense heat still rolled from him. The little lady came over and took the IV bag from Sam and placed it on the IV pole next to the table; she pulled his left arm out straight at a right angle to his body making sure the IV was flowing properly put a blood pressure cuff around Dean's arm than put the oxygen mask over his face, adjusting the flow of oxygen. Dr. Bradstreet was examining the instrument tray. Without looking up he said distractedly. "Sam this is my wife Violet, she will be assisting me in the surgery."

Sam smiled at Violet as he stepped back from the table not wanting to get in the way, but not wanting to leave. _Dean might need me._ "Hello Sam pleased to meet you." Her voice was squeaky sounding like a badly played violin. She had a thin face a long thin nose and virtually no chin, but her brown eyes were kind. Her profile reminded Sam of a ferret. Doctor and Mrs. Bradstreet were as different as chalk and cheese.

Dr. Bradstreet looked up from the tray saying. "I think we have everything we need. "Vi start another line with antibiotics and have more fluids ready." Violet nodded and began to do as requested. "I'll go and wash up." Dr. Bradstreet added.

"Oliver what do want to do about an anesthetic?" Violet asked as she bustled about pulling various things out of the cupboards and cabinets lining one wall. "We don't have any full anesthetic."

"What do we have?"

"Just the same as we always have, premed sedative Fentanyl or Morphine for pain." Violet answered.

Dr. Bradstreet looked down at Dean a thoughtful expression on his round face. "We'll use Fentanyl; he'll need the Morphine afterwards."

"Okay." Violet said as she continued preparations.

Sam couldn't believe his ears. _No anesthetic?_ "Dr. Bradstreet will he feel it, without any anesthetic?"

"The Fentanyl is all we have and with him being already unconscious it should be enough."

"Should?" Sam said anxiously.

Dr. Bradstreet looked at Sam. The poor boy looked like he was on the edge his features were pinched looking and eyes were bloodshot. "Sam it will be alright, now will you help Violet prepare Dean for the surgery? While I go and wash up."

"Of course, what ever I can do to help what do I have to do?" Sam stepped forward looking at Violet for instructions.

Without another word Dr. Bradstreet turned and left the room.

"First take off his under shorts."

Sam hesitated unsure he had heard her correctly. After a moment Sam did as he was asked as he wrestled the only piece of clothing Dean had on down his legs and over his feet, he thought Dean wouldn't be happy to be naked in front of any one other than a hot chick or hot young nurse, and Violet was neither hot nor young.

"Do you do surgery here very often?" Sam asked. Violet held open a plastic bag for Sam to put the boxers in.

"No not a lot we're not set up for major surgery, it's just minor stuff like ingrown toenails and the removal of skin cancers, warts, moles, lancing that sort of thing." She answered as she went and retrieved four folded clothes and three rolls of wide bandages; she rolled the clothes into fat sausages and stood on Dean's left side.

Noting the absence of a heart monitor and some of the other specialized equipment used for surgery, Sam felt apprehension fill him at the comment, wondering whether he had done the right thing in bringing Dean here. It must have shown on his face because Violet smiled reassuringly saying, "But don't worry Oliver was a surgeon at the local hospital for over twenty years, it's been awhile since he's done this kind of surgery but I'm sure he hasn't forgotten how, now roll him towards me onto his left side and hold him steady." Sam thought for moment about pulling his brother off the table and hightailing it out of here and to a hospital, and then changed his mind; Dean didn't have time so Sam did as asked the heat from Dean's fevered body warming his chilled hands.

Violet bent Dean's knees at a ninety degree angle, carefully trying not to aggravate the wound in his thigh, she pushed a rolled cloth in between them, one underneath Dean at the left side of his waist another under him at chest level and the fourth she placed under his head, she lifted Dean's right arm up and over his head, so his hand rested on the table above his head. She unrolled one of the bandages part way and with Sam helping she wrapped it over Dean's arm at the elbow then around and under the table three times before securing the end. She repeated this process with the second bandage this was wrapped around Dean where his underarm met his torso. The third one held his bent knees in position; Dean was now secured in what Sam assumed was the correct position for this type of surgery.

Sam stood back waiting to see if he would be needed again. The hiss of oxygen the only sound in the room. Sam saw Dean's fingers twitch and his eyes move under his lids.

"He's not allergic to iodine is he?"

"Umm no, he's not."

Violet took another cloth and laid it across Dean's thighs, giving Dean back a little of his lost dignity even though still unconscious then washed his side and all around the cauterized wound with antiseptic wash, dried it thoroughly and painted the area with iodine using a sterile pad and forceps-like tongs.

Dr. Bradstreet came back in holding his hands up. Violet helped him to gown up put on a surgical mask and into a pair of skin tight surgical gloves, and went to stand by Dean's head to monitor his vital signs.

"Start the Fentanyl push 15 cc's to start with."

Violet produced a large syringe and fed some of the contents into the IV port in Dean's elbow, and then she pressed her gloved fingertips against Dean's neck checking his pulse rate.

Both Bradstreet's seemed to have forgotten Sam standing quietly nearby. "What are his vital signs?"

"Pressure's 85 over 55, pulse rate 138, temps 103.8." Violet rattled off the numbers.

"Pressure's low, heart rates elevated, temps still high, dear oh dear."

"Oliver…" Violet said drawing her husband's attention to her.

Dr. Bradstreet looked at Violet who inclined her head towards Sam standing silently in the background.

He looked in the direction she indicated at Sam; Dr. Bradstreet looked at him like he'd never seen him before, he'd forgotten he was there. He said. "Sam you need to leave now, go and wait in the lounge it's at the end of the hall on the right, there's some coffee in there, this may take a while I'll come out when I'm done."

Sam nodded and went to the door; he shot one more look at his brothers flushed face half hidden by the oxygen mask and left. He leaned back against the wall next to the doors and slid down until he was on the floor. He placed his elbows on his bent knees and leaned his head into his hands pressing the heals of his hands into his closed eyes, trying to hold back tears that threatened to overwhelm him, vaguely he could hear muted voices coming from inside the closed doors as the Bradstreet's began the surgery that would God willing save his brother's life.

Unable to hold back the tears any longer. Sam let them come, through his hitching breath and the lump that had lodged itself in his throat he prayed, prayed like he'd never prayed in his life.

-- SI --

The hot, damp silent darkness that was keeping Dean captive loosened its grip a little. The darkness seemed to lift to dark gray rather than black and seemed not so all encompassing and the silence was infiltrated by the sound of distant echoing voices. The damp heat still pushed down on him pressing him down pressing his side onto something hard and unyielding. The darkness lifted a little more as light filtered through his closed lids and the voices became clearer and seemed somehow closer; he could make out some of the words they were saying. "I see the kidney and there's the tear." There was a note of triumph in the vaguely familiar deep male voice.

The last fuzzy memories he had before the darkness played across his mind, behind his closed eyes. He remembered leaning against Sam and Sam's strong arm supporting him as his body failed him, he remembered Sam's worried face as he saw the blood in the toilet leaning heavily against Sam and a then a feeling of falling. Then Sam was replaced by a round smiling face surrounded by a mass of blond curls, a voice deep and resonating, sounding like Darth Vader, the same voice he had just heard say something about a kidney. _Not keen on kidneys or liver for that matter._

_Forget about kidneys, where is Sam? God I hope he's alright. _His thoughts for Sam and his health and safety were interrupted by a new sensation pulling at him and beginning to override everything else, something that hadn't been there before. Pain. It centered on his side, not the side pressed against that hard surface his other side, sharp and intense pain radiating into his very core. His heartbeat sped up and pounded hard against his eardrums. He almost missed the unfamiliar high-pitched squeaky female voice saying. "His heart rate's rising."

The pain intensified even more causing him to tense his muscles and groan into what ever that was pressed hard onto his mouth and nose. He tried to open his eyes to find out what they were doing to him that hurt so God-damned much, but he had no strength not even for that.

The squeaky voice must have heard his moan of pain. A cool hand was placed on his burning forehead and she sounded closer like she was leaning over him when she said. "Oliver… I think he's awake."

The pain lessened off, and the man's voice said. "What?" The man's next words sounded closer like he too was leaning over him, "Dean can you hear me?"

"_Yeah I can hear yah, Darth." _He said in his mind but not with any part of his vocal equipment. _Stop what ever the hell it is you're doin' will ya, hurts. I want Sam, where's Sam?_

The familiar voice however must have seen some kind of sign that he had heard his silent plea for him to stop, either that or he was a mind reader; he spoke again a note of tense anxiety laced the deep voice. "My god he is, more Fentanyl 20 cc's."

The cool hand lifted away and he instantly missed the tiny amount of comfort it had provided, three heartbeats later he felt a ribbon of fire running up his arm; it exploded at the base of his skull, sending tendrils of fire creeping into his brain coating his senses and causing the voices to grow indistinct, distant and echoing again his tensed muscles relaxed and now beyond his control went limp as he fell back into the suffocating hot, damp and again silent and pain free darkness.

-- SI --

Sam had no idea how long he sat on the floor outside the surgery doors his hands pressed against his eyes. From beyond the surgery doors he could still hear the odd question or request from Dr. Bradstreet and the squeaky reply from Violet. Some time later he got to his feet and like a Zombie made his way down to the end of the hall and into the lounge. The room was bright and cheery; the walls painted in lemon, two two-seater sofas' and three lounge chairs covered in a tropical print fabric looked comfortable and inviting. Against one wall was a table with a self serve coffee machine half a dozen white mugs and in the center of the room was a low bamboo table with two neatly stacked piles of magazines and a vase of fresh flowers. Framed prints of South American birds including Macaw's and other brightly colored Parrots graced the walls.

Sam ignored the seating the coffee and the magazines. He began pacing the room between one of the sofas' and the bamboo table. _How long has it been since they started the surgery?_ Sam glanced at his watch 10.47 which gave him no clue as he had no idea what time it had been when he'd left the operating room.

After twenty minutes of pacing Sam felt his strength desert him in a rush and not the pleasant welcome kind of rush. His legs were suddenly weak and shaky, he was lightheaded and dizzy, he was on the verge of collapse. He reached out a trembling hand towards the arm of the closest chair turning lazy circles in front of his eyes. He turned his failing body and half sat half fell into it catching his hip painfully on one arm, he bent forward and took several deep breaths to clear his head and calm his jangled nerves.

The strain of the last twenty four hours had taken its toll on his body and soul. His nerves felt pulled tight and as taught as bow strings ready to snap at any second. For the last twelve hours his system had been running on adrenaline and worry, with the adrenaline now exhausted Sam was running on empty it had been probably 24 hours since he had eaten or drank anything and his body was telling him it needed refueling and rest.

After a few minutes the shaking stilled and his head stopped spinning, he slowly sat up and his eyes fell onto the coffee machine across the room, maybe it would help, at least it was something wet, he had to do something to keep himself alert until Dr. Bradstreet came and told him everything was alright and Dean would be okay.

He dragged himself out of the chair and across to the beckoning coffee machine, he took one of mugs, and made himself some with hands that shook just a little. He lifted the steaming mug to his lips the fresh coffee aroma filling his nose.

The lip of the mug touched his bottom lip when in the corner of his eye he saw movement in the doorway.

Sam put the mug back down without taking a mouthful turning towards the blood spattered gowned figure filling the doorway.

He couldn't look at Dean's blood spread across the man's large girth, so Sam searched Dr. Bradstreet's face looking for some kind of sign as to how the surgery had gone but he couldn't tell anything from the man's inscrutable expression, so he waited for the doctor to speak.

He shuffled into the room and up to Sam, he laid a large hand on Sam's shoulder and gently squeezed, then he gave a reduced version of the smile Sam had seen when he introduced himself, then he spoke. "Well Sam I have repaired and stitched the kidney and I've cleaned and irrigated the wounds in his hands cleaned and applied burn dressing to the cauterized wounds."

Sam didn't realize he was holding his breath until he opened his mouth and exhaled in a hurry to speak. "How is he, doctor?"

"He's not out of the woods yet, complications could arise but at the moment he's holding his own, he's a real fighter that brother of yours, the next twelve hours will be crucial."

Sam latched onto one word. Complications. "What kind of complications?"

"Shock, the blood loss, which both could lead to cardiac arrest and that infection which is still a major worry." The doctor looked like he wanted to say more.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Sam prompted he wanted to know everything.

Dr. Bradstreet seemed surprised that Sam picked up that he hadn't told him everything. "We had a bit of a problem during the surgery."

Sam felt his stomach clench with fear. "What kind of a problem?"

"He umm… woke up."

"Oh God no, do you think he… felt anything?"

"Maybe for a minute, but we administered more Fentanyl as soon as we realized what was happening."

The thought of Dean waking up while they had him opened up and feeling what they were doing to him even just for a minute made Sam's legs go weak, again. The doctor's face swam in and out of focus before his eyes.

Dr. Bradstreet saw the little color left in Sam's face drain away leaving him white and green around the mouth. He took Sam by the elbow and guided him into the nearest chair.

Sam felt Dr. Bradstreet's firm grip on his arm and the next thing he knew he was sitting. The doctor was saying "Take deep breaths." Sam did as he was told and when his head cleared he saw the doctor was crouched down in front of him his face worried. "Alright now?"

Sam nodded; when he could speak again he managed to say. "Can I see him?"

"Not just yet, we have to finish up and then we're going to transfer him to a cot in the next room, give us about another ten fifteen minutes, I'll come get you when we're ready."

Sam couldn't speak he nodded again. Dr. Bradstreet patted Sam's arm and got to his feet. Sam watched the doctor's broad back retreat from the room.

**TBC**

**After seeing the season 3 finale, I'm still in shock that the gorgeous Dean is in hell or limbo, but I don't think he'll be there long at least he'd better not be!!**

**Thanks for reading; I hope you are still enjoying my story. Reviews are appreciated.**


	13. Chapter 13

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_sigh!)

And once again thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter and for your kind comments. If I haven't replied I apologize, I've been kinda busy with that dastardly thing called: 'Real Life'

Thanks to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.

**Chapter 13**

_**Savannah Georgia – March 2008**_

The next time Dean surfaced he was no longer lying on his side, or on that hard surface, beneath his body was something soft. For the first time in recent memory, memory which was kinda vague and disjointed, he felt comfortable and warm, not that suffocating heat that had pressed down and plagued him before. A kaleidoscope of rainbow patterns swirled and blended together across the inside of his closed eyes. But there was a noise no two noises interrupting the tranquil peace and gradually working their way into his brain, one was like the constant hissing of an angry snake the other a see-saw sound up and down rising and falling and a smell a clean smell surrounded him, he knew that smell, antiseptic, hospital grade, the smell Dean always associated with well what else but hospitals. Sam must have bought him to the hospital after he had collapsed in the bathroom.

There was a rustle of clothing and light breathing close by, someone was standing close. _Hope it's a hot nurse, a female hot nurse not some wannabe Gaylord Focker._ Something soft and warm brushed against the skin of his arm lifting it, _fingertips?_ The fingertips gently wrapped something around his upper arm which was then followed by a rhythmical pumping noise accompanying the tightening of that thing around his arm and a minute later the pressure was released with a swoosh of escaping air, then removed. There was what Dean assumed was an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth making the hissing angry snake noise; he could feel the life giving pure air rushing up his nose and down the back of his throat every time he inhaled.

A soft, cool hand was laid on his forehead; it rested there for a few moments before lifting away, the touch seemed familiar. He had to find out who it was, it was paramount that he see the face the hand belonged too, and so he forced his reluctant and uncooperative eyes open.

An unusual pointy face swam into his vision, for a moment Dean felt as though he'd fallen through the looking glass and woken up in wonderland. Dean had no doubt it was a woman, _thank god it's not Gaylord Focker,_ short brown hair graying at the front hairline framed her thin pointy face. She wasn't looking at him but at something slightly above her eye level on his left. Her eyes moved downwards and he felt a push and pull on the skin in the crook of his elbow. As if she sensed his scrutiny her brown eyes slid to his face seeing he was awake she smiled and said in a quiet southern tone. "Why Dean you're awake, how do you feel?" Her voice was high-pitched and kinda squeaky and some what grating.

Dean ran his tongue around the inside of his parched, dry throat and around his lips, that felt cracked and rough trying to encourage enough saliva into his mouth to answer, what came out through the oxygen mask was dry, raspy and distorted. "Awesome."

She smiled again, saying. "Sure you do, thirsty?"

Dean nodded.

"Are you in any pain?"

Dean considered the question assessing his current situation before answering. _Some discomfort but no pain._

Dean shook his head.

She went behind him and manually lifted the back of the bed up so that he was in a semi sitting position. The change of position and the flare of pain in his side and leg caused the room to spin alarmingly; Dean groaned and closed his eyes waiting for it to pass. When he opened them again the little pointy faced lady was leaning over him her lean unusual face filled with concern, the only thing Dean could think of was, _she has no chin. _She was ever so gently rubbing his forearm. "Pain and dizziness?" She asked.

This time Dean nodded yes; it was all he was capable of. "It should pass." She continued to rub his arm.

She was right after a little while the room stilled and the pain subsided.

A minute later she said. "Better?"

"Yeah." Dean managed to squeeze out.

"I'll give you some ice chips for that dry mouth, but first I want to take your temperature, I don't want the ice to give a false reading."

She lifted the mask down from his face letting it rest against his throat then pushed the disposable thermometer under his tongue; while she was waiting she lifted his wrist and took his pulse sliding her fingers under the edge of the bandage wrapped around his hand.

Dean had a thousand questions running around in his foggy pain filled mind. _Where's Sam? Where am I? What the hell happened? Who are you?_

She gently laid his wrist back down against the skinny cot and retrieved a chart from the table beside her, she scribbled on it and then took the thermometer out of his mouth she peered at the read out and then scribbled on the chart again. "Pressures coming up, heart rates coming down and your temperatures down to 101.7."

She put down the chart and picked up a small plastic cup and a plastic spoon, she scooped out a spoon of ice chips and fed them to him, he let the ice melt on his tongue then let its coolness slither down his throat, she fed him another spoonful then said. "Not too much at first, I'll give you more in a little while."

She repositioned the oxygen mask before Dean could ask the burning question. _"Where's Sam?"_

Dean took a deep lung full of oxygen again causing pain to flare in his side before he asked. "Where's Sam; where's my brother?"

She gave a little laugh saying. "He said you'd ask that as soon as you woke up."

Dean didn't return her laugh, with a worried frown he asked again. "Where's Sam?"

She gestured to her right. "He's right here."

Dean looked in that direction, six feet away Sam was stretched out on an identical cot to his own; his body was turned in Dean's direction his large feet hanging a half a foot over the bottom edge, the cot not made to accommodate a man of his lofty height. The see-sawing noise he'd heard when he'd woken was emanating from his long, little brother's half open mouth. Sam was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly a sure sign he was deeply asleep.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief as he gazed at his brother. He had dark smudges shading his eyes and the skin of his face was drawn and pale.

The little chinless lady was also looking at Sam. "The poor boy was distraught and exhausted; Oliver had to practically force him to lie down and he only agreed if he could be in the same room with you. He made me promise to wake him when you woke."

"No, please don't wake him let him sleep, he looks like he needs it." Dean dragged his eyes away from Sam and back to the little lady.

"I promised him." She said.

"Please don't." Dean's green eyes pleaded.

She searched his face for a moment or two, before saying. "Alright."

Dean gave a smile a reduced version of the Dean Winchester lady killer megawatt smile and then he glanced around the room. A soft light seemed to be coming from slightly behind him it didn't look like a typical hospital room, although it smelled like one. His hand felt heavy as lead as Dean lifted the mask away from his nose with a bandaged hand to ask. "What is this place, a hospital?"

"No it's a clinic, my husband's clinic, leave the mask on please."

Dean let the mask fall back into place, before asking. "Your husband's a doctor?"

"Yes Oliver Bradstreet, I'm Violet and you're Dean." She stated matter of factly.

"Bradstreet where have I heard that name before?" Dean's eyebrows drew together in thought.

Violet was bustling around straightening the cotton blanket covering him from the waist down. Dean frowned down at the numerous scars peppering his bare chest and torso; he would have a fresh one to add to the collection. "My husband Oliver, he didn't think you'd remember but you met him yesterday."

A vague picture of a round face and blond curls with a deep voice popped into his head. "How did I get here?"

"Sam brought you in your car."

"How long have I been here?"

"Since last evening."

"What time is it?"

"Three am."

Dean was now aware of a constant pain in his side that was growing with every breath he took. Something was nagging at the back of his mind he remembered this pain and a voice; a voice he now knew belonged to Violet saying. _"Oliver… I think he's awake."_ He mentally shook himself to dispel the audio playback, going back to his previous train of thought, saying. "How did he know to bring me here?"

"Matthew called Oliver and asked him to come see you and help you out."

"Matthew Archer?"

"Uhuh, so he did and he told Sam to bring you here so he could treat you."

"I don't remember that." Dean closed his eyes trying to block out the pain pulsing through his side and now joined by one in his left thigh. It didn't work.

"No you were very sick and unconscious when Sam and Oliver dragged you in here so I'm not surprised."

Dean opened his eyes, Violet was at the bottom of the cot she was inspecting a clear bag filled half way with liquid yellow streaked with red and pink, a tube protruded from the bag snaking it's way under the blanket at Dean's feet. Realization hit Dean he knew what that tube was connected to; he had a catheter up in there. _I hate those freakin' things. _He felt a sudden unreasonable embarrassment, some how knowing that Violet had been the one that had inserted it, had handled and was intermit with that particular body part.

She picked up the chart again and scribbled on it again. Dean covered his embarrassment by asking. "You and Oliver are friends of Matthew?"

"Friends and family, Lilia, Matthew's wife is my second cousin." Dean was having trouble concentrating on the conversation as the pain was starting to overwhelm him; the pain in his side and thigh were joined by a twinge in his left shoulder. He closed his eyes again, not realizing he was screwing up his face in obvious pain.

Violet laid her hand on his arm saying in a soft voice. "You're in pain." Dean dragged open his eyes and saw the kindness and caring in her brown eyes. He wasn't sure whether she was asking him or telling him but 'in pain' was an understatement, he felt as though his side was going to burst open and his innards were going to squirt out over Violet, the cot, the blanket, Sam and anything else within a one mile radius. He just nodded affirmative. She patted his arm and said. "I'll give you something."

Dean glanced across at Sam who was still snoring loudly, dead to the world, _bad choice of expression, Dean._ Violet came back with a syringe, Dean dragged his eyes away from Sam and watched as she injected it directly into the IV line. "It's Morphine so it will work quickly. She wasn't kidding almost instantly he felt his senses dull along with the pain, then his eyes grew heavy and even if he'd wanted too he couldn't keep them open, he decided he didn't want too, he let them slide closed, feeling the pain melt away, the last thing he knew of was the same cool hand as it gently smoothed the hair away from his forehead.

-- SI --

Sam had fallen asleep. He blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling above him taking a few seconds to orient himself to his surroundings. _The clinic, The Bradstreet's clinic, Dean!_

His eyes went straight to the cot across the now light room; Dean was still there he hadn't been spirited away by a hoard of demons or monsters while Sam slept.

Sam couldn't believe he had slept while his brother lay desperately ill six feet away, but he had and it was a deep, dreamless sleep, a sleep of pure physical and mental exhaustion.

Sam threw back the cotton blanket that Violet must have pulled around him during the night and went to stand beside Dean, assessing the state of his brother, his face was pale his freckles standing out across cheeks no longer stained with the unnatural blush of fever, long eyelashes lay against the indigo colored bruised looking skin under his eyes, he looked so ill, but at least peaceful and comfortable.

Sam's assessment was interrupted by Violet's voice. "You're up, feel better now?" She came to stand on the other side of the cot and looked at Sam much the same way he had just looked at Dean.

Sam felt his cheeks flare with embarrassment at his behavior last night or was it early this morning; he had objected and kicked up a fuss when the Bradstreet's after making him eat something had told him to go upstairs to their spare bedroom and get some sleep. He had almost stamped his foot like a five year old in the throws of a tantrum insisting that he had to be in the same room as his brother, he had to be near him if he awoke.

The Bradstreet's had seen how distraught he was so they agreed and brought another cot into the room. Sam lay down turned towards his brother and fell asleep almost instantly.

"I must apologize for last night I behaved childishly, I'm sorry." Sam said unable to look Violet in the eye.

She reached across Dean and patted his arm. "No need I understand."

Sam smiled at her gratefully, and then looked down at Dean. "How's he doing?"

"As well as can be expected, he woke up briefly in the early hours."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I was going to but Dean insisted I let you sleep, he said you looked like you needed it." Violet answered.

"Typical Dean always puts me and everybody else before himself." Sam said more to himself than Violet.

"I gathered as much." Violet said glancing down at Dean's pale handsome face.

Sam sighed and ran his hands through his sleep tussled hair.

Violet saw the movement. "Sam I gave Dean a shot of Morphine so he'll be out for hours yet, why don't you go back to the motel get cleaned up and I'll have a nice breakfast ready when you get back."

"I don't want you to go to any more trouble you and the doctor have done so much already."

"It's no trouble I'll be making breakfast for Oliver before he sees patients in morning surgery, so go, be back here in an hour, go on scram."

Sam reached out and gave Dean's hand a quick squeeze. "I'll be back soon bro." He smiled at Violet and headed for the front door pulling the keys to the Impala out of his pocket where he'd put them before dragging Dean into the clinic.

-- SI --

When Dean next fought his way out of the Morphine induced stupor, the room was light and bright sunshine peeped in around the edges of the half closed vertical blinds adorning the window opposite where he lay. The day was well under way, but he had no idea what time it was or how long the Morphine had held the pain and his consciousness at bay. He felt no pain at the present time, a kind of heavy lethargy seemed to be keeping him in its grip. He rolled his weighted head to the left expecting to see Sam still stretched out on the cot across the room but the cot was empty the covers discarded in a lumpy pile.

He rolled his head back and gazed at the white ceiling, remembering the conversation he had with the kindly Ferret faced Violet sometime early this morning. Matthew Archer had sent a doctor to him, a doctor who's clinic Dean was now lying in. How had Matthew known that he they needed help? _Where is Sam? I need him to fill in the gaps and find out what the hell happened after the motel bathroom._

Dean sensed movement in the doorway to his right and he rolled his head that way, Sam was there as if Dean's mind had conjured him leaning a shoulder against the door frame and smiling. Dean gave him the once over he was dressed in different clothes to what he had on earlier when he had been sleeping on the too small cot. His hair was brushed away from his forehead the damp wavy ends brushing the collar of his plaid shirt. The dark circles Dean had noted under his eyes were less pronounced and his face had lost that drawn look, he had a spot of color in each cheek a legacy of the hot shower he had not that long ago gotten out of.

"Hey." Dean's voice was dry and raspy.

"Hey." Sam answered as he pushed away from the door frame jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and came slowly into the room.

Dean swallowed against the dryness in his throat, a leftover of the Morphine. Sam saw saying. "Thirsty? You want some water?"

Dean nodded. He was doing a lot of that lately.

Sam picked up a carafe from the table beside the cot and poured water into a small cup with a straw in it, he held the straw against Dean's lips and let him drink, the water tasting like the sweetest thing ever to Dean, _nectar of the gods. _It coated his mouth and tongue and traced a soothing path down his burning throat.

When Sam took the now empty cup away, pulling up a chair next to the cot and sitting down, Dean rolled his tongue over his newly moistened mouth and decided to venture speaking. "So, you alright?" He asked.

Sam gave a familiar lopsided smile, before answering. "I'm good, what about you?"

"Me, I'm super." Dean said.

"Well you look like crap." Sam said as his blue/green eyes scanned Dean's face.

"Bet I'm still better looking than you."

"Yeah right, you've got dark circles under your eyes large enough to fit all our weapons and then some inside."

Dean gave a snort of laughter and then winced as pain shoot through his side.

All traces of humor fled from Sam's face, before he said. "You know you nearly died yesterday Dean?"

"Can you fill me in? I can only remember bits and pieces, what happened after the bathroom?"

"I was going to haul your heavy ass to the nearest hospital when Matthew Archer rang, he knew what had gone on at the church, he said he had a friend a doctor who could help and be discreet with no questions asked, which meant not taking the risk of going to the hospital and getting the police involved, so he sent Dr. Bradstreet to the motel and then I brought you here to his clinic and Dr. Bradstreet and his wife Violet operated on your kidney and repaired the damage done by the knife."

"Violet, I met her earlier, when you were asleep."

"Why'd you tell her not to wake me?" Sam sounded annoyed.

"Why do you think? Because you needed the sleep and you looked done in."

Sam's eyes glistened with emotion. "I was so scared, Dean I thought I was gonna lose you… again."

"Take more than a few knives the do me in Sam." Dean tried to lighten the moment.

"Well thank God for Oliver Bradstreet or you would be dead either from internal bleeding or infection."

"This Dr. Bradstreet does he look like Chewbacca and sound like Darth Vader?"

That did the trick Sam smiled and said. "Yeah that's him, you remember him?"

"How could I forget a blond Wookie that sounds like James Earl Jones?" Dean could also remember intense pain associated with that voice saying, _"My god he is, more Fentanyl 20 cc's." _the pain that was again starting to grow and expand as the last of the morphine dissipated from his system.

Sam must have seen the pain in his face, he asked quietly almost whispered. "Do you want me to get Violet?"

"Umm…. maybe…. Yeah." Dean was trying not to sound too needy and pathetic.

After Sam hurried from the room, Dean tried to breath through the pain hoping for some relief, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect, so he gave up, resorting to shallow panting breaths.

Sam returned a minute later with Violet preceding him into the room; to spite the onslaught of pain Dean couldn't help an internal smile at the contrast between the two, Violet was around sixty a couple of inches shy of five feet, Sam 35 years younger towered over her a good foot and a half taller. Dean again noticed her resemblance to a small furry mammal, a ferret to be accurate.

She crossed to the cot cupping his cheek in her hand, saying. "Has the morphine worn off do you need another shot?"

Dean nodded into the comforting caress of her small hand, _again with the nodding._ Without another word Violet prepared another syringe as Sam stood back looking anxiously at his big brother's pain filled face. Dean wanted to tell him not to worry that everything would be fine, but as another wave of pain rocked him he wasn't so sure that was the case at the present moment.

Violet injected the Morphine into the IV line and again Dean felt the pain and his senses dull almost instantly. He closed his eyes shutting out Sam's worried face; Dean knew he didn't have to worry about Sam for now, he was safe with The Bradstreet's and he also knew his little brother would be here beside him next time he woke.

**TBC**

**All reviews are appreciated, thanks for reading.**

_**Silvertayl**_


	14. Chapter 14

SPITTING IMAGE

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**STORY SUMMARY:**

**In Savannah Georgia, a pattern of murders is repeated every 29 years. Dean and Sam suspect a vengeful spirit is responsible. As they uncover the facts behind the spirits actions; it becomes clear that one of the brothers is destined to become the spirits next victim; will they be able to stop the cycle of death, before it's too late for one of the Winchester Brothers? **

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**I hope you guys are still enjoying **_**SPITTING IMAGE**_**, thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter and to all those who are still putting it on story alert.**

**Thanks as usual go to my beta Ms Okie Dokie**

**Chapter 14**

_**Savannah Georgia – March 2008**_

Over the next twenty-four hours Dean continued to show improvement, the oxygen mask was no longer required and removed. He slept most of the time, Dr. Bradstreet said that was normal after surgery, it is the body's way was coping with the trauma it had sustained, the initial injuries, the ensuing surgery, plus blood loss and the Morphine being administered intravenously . The next afternoon Dr. Bradstreet switched the pain meds from IV Morphine to Oxycontin administered orally twice a day.

On Wednesday morning on the way to the clinic Sam had stopped at the local Wal-Mart and purchased two pairs of sweat pants, boxers also two white V-neck t-shirts so Dean had something clean to wear while he was at the clinic or just something to wear period. Sam had figured it was easier to buy new ones as opposed to paying a visit to a laundromat, keeping in mind that a trip in the very near future was in order as Sam himself was running out of clean clothes.

Dean appreciated the gesture of the new clothing as he was sick of sitting around on the cot bare-chested wearing only the boxers he'd had on when he arrived at the clinic nearly three days earlier.

That afternoon Dean was again sleeping on the narrow cot with Sam keeping vigil over his brother like a lioness guarding her cub when they had an unexpected visitor.

A light knocking from the open door drew Sam's attention. Standing in the doorway was Matthew Archer.

After putting a finger to his lips in a gesture for quiet Sam beckoned him to enter, which he did. He came into the room slowly and stood on the opposite side of the cot to Sam. Matthew was dressed in a suit and tie, Sam assumed he had come from his office in downtown Savannah. Matthew looked down at Dean and then at Sam before saying in a hushed tone. "How's he doin'?"

"It was touch and go for awhile but he's on the mend thanks to the Bradstreet's… and you." Sam said returning Matthew's look.

"They're good people aren't they? I knew Oliver would look after Dean." Matthew said as he tore his gaze from Sam back to Dean's face.

"Matthew if you hadn't sent Dr. Bradstreet to the motel, I think Dean would be dead now or handcuffed to a hospital bed under police custody."

"It's the least I could do to help after what you guys did for me and my family." Matthew was again looking at Sam.

"All part of the job." Sam said with a half smile.

"Sam when Oliver says its okay, I would like you and Dean to stay in my home while Dean recuperates and until he's well enough to travel."

Sam saw sincerity in Matthew's gray/green eyes and heard it in his words; he was genuinely offering his home as a retreat for them until Dean was well enough to hit the road. "Are you sure; we wouldn't want to put you to any trouble." Sam said.

"It's no trouble, I have a large home and plenty of room and Hettie would love to fuss over Dean, she is quite taken with him."

Sam smiled, showing even white teeth. "I noticed."

Matthew looked askance at Sam before saying. "So what do you say, do we have deal? Will you come?"

"Just say yes Sam and don't keep the man waiting." An amused croaky voice said from the cot.

Both Sam and Matthew looked down at Dean; his lips were pulled up in a half smile as he glanced from one to the other, his green eyes sleepy and hooded. "If the man wants the pleasure of our company then who are we to deny him."

Matthew smiled at Dean and gave a sigh of relief. "Sam tells me you're doin okay."

"I've been better but then again I've been worse, but for the life of me I can't remember when." Dean answered.

Sam could remember. "What about Oregon?"

"Oh yeah Oregon but that's a whole other story."

Matthew looked at Sam askance; Sam shrugged dismissing the subject, if Dean didn't want to inform Matthew of what happened in Oregon and how Dean very nearly died there, Sam wasn't going to tell that convoluted story.

Matthew got the message and went back to his previous conversation. "So when Oliver says it's alright you'll come to my home to recuperate?" Matthew this time voicing his proposal to Dean now that he was awake.

"We'd love to, wouldn't we Sam?" Dean looked at his brother.

"Of course we would." Sam said with another smile that lit up his face.

"Good that's settled, I'll keep in touch with Oliver, and I'll have rooms ready when you arrive." With that Matthew bade them good afternoon and left.

-- SI --

That evening after Sam had gone back to the motel for the evening Dr. Bradstreet had examined Dean and seemed pleased with his progress and finding Dean was no longer passing blood in his urine, it was decided to remove the catheter from up there. Dean was relieved to have that out even though it was Violet who removed it. He still had the IV drip in his arm, but that would be removed in the morning and Dean would no longer be tethered to the cot by various tubes and other paraphernalia, he would be able to go to the toilet on his own two legs instead of pissing into a bag.

Dean had told the Bradstreet's he would be okay unattended for the night. Dr. Bradstreet agreed and bidding Dean a good night he turned to leave, he was wearing the patched plaid jacket that Dean could not recall ever seeing him without. Dean wondered if he ever took it off and had a mental picture of the doc sleeping in it. He walked out the room with his usual shambling gait that Dean had grown quite fond of. The good doctor heading for his and Violet's private residence upstairs. Violet however was harder to convince, unwilling to leave him incase he needed something in the night. Dean finally got her to retire saying he would call out if he needed her, she went reluctantly turning back when she reached the doorway saying. "I'll leave this door and the one upstairs open and the light on in the hall, are you sure you'll be alright?"

"I'm a big boy I'll be fine."

"As long as you're sure."

"I'm sure."

-- SI --

_Damp heat pushed down on him pressing him down, pressing his side onto something hard and unyielding. The darkness lifted a little as light filtered through his closed lids and the voices became clearer and seemed somehow closer; he could make out some of the words they were saying. "I see the kidney and there's the tear." There was a note of triumph in the vaguely familiar deep male voice._

_Pain. It centered on his side, not the side pressed against that hard surface his other side, sharp and intense pain radiating into his very core. His heartbeat sped up and pounded hard against his eardrums. He almost missed the high-pitched squeaky female voice saying. "His heart rate's rising."_

_The pain intensified even more causing him to tense his muscles and groan into what ever that was pressed hard onto his mouth and nose. He tried to open his eyes to find out what they were doing to him that hurt so God-damned much, but he had no strength not even for that._

_The squeaky voice must have heard his moan of pain. A cool hand was placed on his burning forehead and she sounded closer like she was leaning over him when she said. "Oliver… I think he's awake."_

_The pain lessened off, and the man's voice said. "What?" The man's next words sounded closer like he too was leaning over him, "Dean can you hear me?"_

_Stop what ever the hell it is you're doin' will ya, hurts. I want Sam, where's Sam?_

_The familiar voice spoke again a note of tense anxiety laced the deep voice. "My god he is, more Fentanyl 20 cc's."_

Dean awoke with a start, damp with sweat and breathing hard he sat up pain pulling in his side, not sure for a few moments of his whereabouts and why he had pain, he glanced around his surrounding now all at once familiar, the narrow cot, the white walls the smell of antiseptic, it was the Bradstreet's clinic. It was quiet and dark a subdued light spilling into the room from the hallway to his right.

He lay back down against the pillow panting. The nightmare that had woken him still fresh in his mind. _It was a nightmare only a nightmare, _he reassured himself.It felt so real like he had lived it before, more like a memory or a case of déjà vu. The pain, it also felt like a memory, _how can that be?_ Then it dawned on him; he _**was**_ reliving a memory. He knew what had happened he had woken up in the surgery had felt Dr. Bradstreet rummaging around inside of him, had heard his and Violet's conversation when they realized he was awake.

Just thinking about it made the acid taste of bile rise in his throat accompanied by a wave of nausea; he sat up again reaching blindly for the plastic bowl on the table beside him, Violet had left it there just in case because she had told him the Oxycontin in some people caused nausea and sometimes vomiting. His vision suddenly blurred. Pressing the edge of the bowl under his chin he dry heaved into it, he had nothing solid to bring up only bile and mucus. When it was over he replaced the bowl on the table and collapsed back onto the cot exhausted and spent, tears of exertion clouding his already wobbly eyesight, a foul taste in his mouth, he drew in gulping breaths trying to come to terms with what he now knew was not a nightmare but memories, memories that for the remains of the night kept replaying in his head over and over, until somewhere just after dawn fell into an exhausted restless sleep.

-- SI --

Shortly after nine am, Sam pulled the Impala into the laneway running behind _**THE BRADSTREET FAMILY CLINIC. **_He parked behind the battered blue Mercedes got out and made his way to the back entrance, he knocked lightly on the door and entered. On his left Violet was coming down the stairs leading to the residence above. She smiled at Sam saying. "Morning Sam."

Sam returned her smile. "How is he today?"

Violet shook her head and said. "Not so good, I don't think he had a very good night."

When Sam saw his brother he could see the evidence of Violet's concerns. The dark circles under Dean's eyes that had almost dissipated over the last couple of days were back, he was sitting up on the cot, his eyes were dull and bloodshot and his face pale.

"Hey Dean, you alright you don't look so good." Sam said as he pulled the chair up beside the cot.

"I'm good, just didn't sleep to good."

"Was it the pain that kept you awake?"

Dean shook his head before he answered. "No not pain just couldn't sleep." He said as he shrugged his shoulder.

Sam knew there was more to it than that; Dean was hiding something, something he didn't want him to know. He was going to persist in trying to get Dean to tell him what was wrong. "Did something happen?"

"No nothing what makes you think that?" Dean answered far too quickly and he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes he kept them downcast to the cotton blanket covering him to the waist, plucking at a pulled thread on the edge of it.

Dean wasn't going to tell him, and with his brother looking the way he did he didn't want to press the issue too far.

Before Sam had arrived Dean had decided to not say anything about his late night revelation, he didn't want Sam to worry about him, Sam had been worried enough over the last few days he wouldn't burden him with this, _maybe later I'll say something,_ _much later, yeah like never._

**TBC**

**Thanks for reading all reviews are appreciated.**


	15. Chapter 15

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**Thanks to all who reviewed the last chapter and to all the new readers, if I haven't answered your reviews, I apologize but real life has been hectic and I haven't been able to find the time to answer each and every one of you. **

**Here's chapter 15, in which Dean has a shower, hope you enjoy!**

**Thanks to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.**

**Chapter 15**

_**Savannah Georgia – March 2008**_

For Dean the nightmares continued every night he relived waking during in the surgery, he awoke sweating, his heart pounding against his ribcage and unable to find any sleep for the remainder of the night. And even though he was getting only a little undisturbed, quality sleep his health continued to improve. On Monday morning over a week after his life saving surgery, Dr. Bradstreet had changed all of Dean's dressings, and declared with a twinkle in his blue eyes that Dean was recovered enough to be transferred to the Archer Mansion with some Oxycontin for pain and some oral antibiotics.

When Sam arrived at the clinic and heard that his brother was well enough to leave and move on to the next stage of his recovery, at the Archer Mansion, he got straight back into the Impala and returned to the motel to check out and gather their stuff.

That afternoon after Dr. Bradstreet had threatened to keep Dean another day if he didn't accept help to get from the clinic to the Impala, Dean very reluctantly was helped into the Impala by Sam with the Bradstreet's hovering nearby incase they were needed. Dr. Bradstreet said that he would come and check on him at the Archer Mansion tomorrow sometime.

The mismatched Bradstreet's waved them off, Oliver wearing the now familiar patched tweed jacket; Violet's kind brown eyes were suspiciously moist, ten minutes later they pulled up outside the Archer Mansion. The path flanked by the colorful Azaleas, leading up the big white house looked welcoming, as Dean sat in his baby contemplating whether he could summon enough energy to make it to the house before he fell flat on his face. After he had made it from the clinic to the Impala he was weak and shaky. The short trip to the Archer place had given him enough time to recover somewhat, but he had used up 90 of the little bit of energy he had.

The front door opened and Hettie stood in the doorway waiting for them. Dean suspected she had been peering out the window waiting for their immanent arrival.

Sam had already come around to the passenger side door and had it open ready to help Dean out of the car. Sam leaned in and took Dean's elbow and was promptly shrugged off by Dean as he said grumpily. "Get off me dude, I got it."

Sam didn't take Dean's testy attitude to heart, knowing his brother was frustrated with his weakness especially with Hettie watching from the front veranda. Sam moved away from the car and held open the white gate waiting for Dean to make a move to alight from the car.

Dean looked from his brother standing on the path holding open the gate to Hettie waiting on the veranda at the end, the path suddenly seemed to be so long stretching into infinity. Dean thought that perhaps he had been a little to hasty to shrug off Sam's helping hand, he was gonna need it. He swung his legs out of the car and planted them on the curb, with a deep breath he levered himself up and out of the car using the door frame as support. _That wasn't so bad; at least I'm out of the car, now for stage two._

Dean took the few halting, limping steps across the sidewalk and through the open gate. As he drew level with Sam he put too much weight on his still healing leg and pain shot through his thigh causing him to take a sharp breath and stumble ever so slightly, immediately Sam's hand shot out and grasped his elbow as he moved to his side. He heard Sam's voice laced with barely restrained anger say. "You stubborn ass, let me help you before you face plant onto Matthew's front path," then in a softer pleading tone, "please Dean?"

Dean was tired of being treated like an invalid, but he knew Sam was right and he would look more ridiculous and yes even more foolish than he already felt if he had to have Sam drag him up off the ground than if he accepted help from Sam's strong arm and made the trek with some dignity. He leaned a little into Sam which Sam knew was acknowledgement that Dean was willing to accept his help.

Slowly but surely they made their way to the veranda and mounted the steps, Hettie smiled broadly at them before she said, "It's good to see y'all, your rooms are ready, follow me I'll show you the way." She turned and headed inside walking slowly down the hall towards the staircase.

Dean rallied a little and still leaning into Sam they followed. When Hettie got to the staircase she stopped and turned waiting for them to catch up, when they were close she started up the stairs talking as she went. "Mister Archer would have been here to greet you, but he had to go out on business, he said he would see you later."

Looking up the carpeted stairs Dean was running on empty, he thought the task in front of him looked like the final ascent to the peak of Mt. Everest, he prayed he had enough resources left to make it to the top and not tumble down to the bottom from half way up.

He felt Sam squeeze his elbow and ask quietly. "You gonna be able to make it?"

Dean glanced sideways at Sam and saw concern written in his expressive blue/green eyes. "I'm good, let's get this over with."

By the time Dean had made it to the top and stepped onto the gallery running the width of the house he was on the verge of collapse, exhaustion pulling him down, leaning against the Mahogany balustrade framing the gallery he sucked in huge lungs full of air. The gold framed paintings of the Archer family stared back at him. Sam still had a hold of his elbow, he leaned in saying. "You okay man?"

"Give… me… a… minute." Dean managed in between drawing breath into his straining lungs, the stitches in his side pulling with each expansion of his chest and stomach.

Sam glanced at Hettie standing in the open doorway of room opposite where they were standing, a concerned look on her dark face; she took a hesitant step back towards them and then stopped not knowing if she should offer to help.

A couple of minutes later his pride in tatters, Dean made it into the room, he sat down on the edge of the large bed too exhausted to notice the richly decorated room and the long window looking out over the beautifully kept Archer back garden. He was panting like he had run a marathon, he was aware of Sam sitting next to him, a comforting hand on his back.

A dark hand holding a glass of water was thrust under his nose, and then Hettie's voice said. "Here drink this Master Ja- err mister Dean."

Dean looked from the hand to Hettie's concerned face. She had again almost called him James. He smiled wanly before he reached out and took the glass from her in a hand that shook slightly and sipped at the refreshing liquid.

"Mister Sam your room is right next door, the bathroom connects the two rooms," she indicated the door opposite where they were sitting, "I've laid out some fresh towels for y'all." She glanced back at Dean before saying. "I'll leave you to settle in; I'll be downstairs if you need anything, cook baked yah some sweet potata pie, when yah feel up to it."

"Thanks Hettie that sounds great." Sam said.

"Thanks Hettie." Dean added, smiling lopsided at her.

Hettie looked at Dean for a brief moment, Dean thought she wanted to say more, and then she gave a nod of her head and left leaving the door slightly ajar.

"Dean will you be okay while I go and get our stuff and lock up the car?" Sam asked as he stood from his spot next to his brother.

Dean looked up at him through his eyelashes before replying in characteristic Dean fashion. "I think I can manage, I'm a big boy now."

Sam left him and went down to the car to get their stuff, he locked all the weapons in the compartment hidden beneath the trunk and took both his laptop bag and his and Dean's duffle bag and went back up to the bedrooms they would call home for the next little while.

After Sam had gone Dean stood and placed the half empty glass on the bedside table, he looked back at the inviting bed and decided it would be okay to lie down and rest until Sam got back, he gingerly lay on top of the bedspread and stretched out his bone weary body. He was asleep moments after his head touched the pillow.

Sam dumped his bag and laptop on the bed in his room a mirror image of the room Dean was in, down to the colorful bedspread. The door to the bathroom was open revealing a large spotless bathroom and the closed door to Dean's room beyond that. With Dean's duffle slung over his shoulder he went into his brother's room. He was surprised to find Dean still fully clothed, boots and all, stretched out on the large bed and unbelievably fast asleep. The half empty glass of water discarded on the bedside table.

Sam put Dean's duffle on the chair beside the bathroom door and unlaced and removed Dean's boots before pulling the comforter that had been folded neatly across the bottom of the bed up and over Dean's legs.

Sam looked at his sleeping brother for a minute, noting the paler of his skin, his long dark eyelashes resting against the equally dark shadows under his eyes, Sam knew that the sleep would do him good, help with the healing, but Sam still had a nagging suspicion that Dean's recovery was being hindered by something, something that was troubling Dean. Dean was hiding something from him, again, but whenever Sam tried to get Dean to open up and tell him what was bothering him Dean's internal walls would come up and Sam knew he would get no answer until Dean was ready to tell him. Sam didn't push the issue mainly due to the fact that Dean was still recovering from being stabbed, burned and surgery on his kidney and not up to a Sam Winchester interrogation.

Sam took the packets of Oxycontin and antibiotics from his pocket placed them on the bedside table next to the glass of water and left Dean sleeping closing the door quietly behind him, salivating at the thought of taste-testing some of the cook's sweet potato pie.

-- SI --

When Dean awoke he blinked up at yet another unfamiliar ceiling. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but he had done, but for how long he had no idea, the light in the room was subdued but not by the darkness of night but because someone had shut the heavy drapes while he had been sleeping. He lay still basking in the remnants of restful sleep, sleep that had not ended with the usual nightmare, he had slept dreamlessly and undisturbed for the first time in days, he felt revived and also felt that he had regained some of his lost strength and energy.

He sat up slowly pulling his legs from underneath the comforter that someone had put over him while he slept swinging his legs over the side of the bed and planting his sock covered feet on the rich Persian carpet.

Moving slowly he went to the window and pulled back the drapes, warm morning sunshine spilled across his face. _I slept all afternoon and all night. _The back garden was as equally well cared for as the front with manicured lawns and trees and a high squared off hedge of some sort lining the back fence, screening the house from near by neighbors. Off to one side was a large magnolia tree in full bloom, birds flittered in and out of the tree gathering nectar from the fragrant blossoms. Underneath the magnolia was an intricately carved wrought iron garden setting the table, seats and the ground around them covered in fallen magnolia blossoms. As he stood gazing at the peaceful scene more blossoms fell to the ground dislodged by the birds working busily above.

Dean ran a hand through his hair it felt heavy and oily and was in bad need of a shampoo; as a matter of fact his whole body needed a thorough cleaning. He looked down at his rumpled and grubby clothes, that summation included the current state of his clothes. He hadn't had a proper shower the whole time he'd been at the clinic, as there was no shower on the downstairs level in the clinic and Dean was not able to climb the stairs to use the Bradstreet's shower on the floor above. After Violet had given him his first totally embarrassing sponge bath, he had insisted that he could manage by himself, but it was not as effective or the same as a hot cleansing shower to wash away the dirt and grime of lying around on a cot for seven days.

Turning away form the window he saw the packet of Oxycontin and antibiotics on the table beside the bed, he had missed last evening's dose of both and he could feel the difference the pain pills made now that the remnants had left his system, pain in his side and his thigh was making itself known, the knife wounds in his hands and the older wound in his shoulder were healing nicely and caused him very little pain now. he took a pain pill and an antibiotic with the left over water, as he made his way into the bathroom he saw Sam had left his duffle bag on the chair beside the bathroom door, in the doorway he stripped off his dirty clothes and threw them in a pile beside the chair, after he'd showered he'd sort through the bag and dig up some clean clothes or at least cleaner than that he had been wearing.

The bathroom was neat and sparkling clean all his and Sam's toiletries had been laid out on the shelves beside the hand basin that was almost big enough to be a bath tub, there was a bath tub that was as big a kids wading pool, fluffy coral colored hand towels and huge bath towels were folded neatly over various towel rails, the shower recess was fully stocked with shampoo, conditioner, shower gel and massive man sized bath sponges. There was evidence that Sam had been there before him, as one of the towels was damp and although it was over the towel rail it wasn't folded as neatly as the others and the shower recess had droplets of water clinging to the perspex interior. Even then Dean felt almost guilty about using the pristine bathroom and messing it up, like one of those wealthy women who clean the house before the cleaning lady comes.

Dean unwound the bandages on his hands and around his shoulder, the dressings on his side and thigh were special waterproof dressings that Dr. Bradstreet had applied yesterday, so he left them alone.

The hot water felt so good against his skin Dean put the heels of his hands against the tiles on the back wall of the recess and leant forward letting the stinging stream of scolding water loosen and sooth the aching muscles in his neck and across his upper back. He stood like this for a full two minutes before he straightened, shampooed his hair and soaping his body with one of the big sponges and the shower gel. After he was thoroughly clean and rinsed he felt that some of the bad memories of the past week had been washed away down the drain with the dirt and grime.

He toweled his hair and body with one of the big towels before wrapping it around his waist, he brushed his teeth and had a quick shave after splashing his favorite cologne onto his now smooth cheeks and jaw the cologne stinging the healing wounds in his hands for a moment he exited the bathroom, he picked up the surprisingly light duffle from beside the door not noticing that the pile of dirty clothes was gone. Dumping it on the bed, he opened it realizing in that instant why it was so light it was empty except for a pair of balled up black socks. "What the hell, where's all my stuff?" He said to himself, and then added, "Someone's taken all my stuff." While he was in the shower someone had gone through his duffle and taken all his clothes. _Sam, is this your way of making sure I stay put?_ _Because brother o mine it aint gonna work_, _it takes more than no clothes to keep me penned up._

Dean looked over at the place where he'd left the pile of dirty clothes he'd taken off not twenty minutes ago they were also gone, "Sonofabitch." He exclaimed not believing what his eyes were seeing he had nothing to wear except a pair of socks and they'd probably been left behind by accident. "We'll see about that." Dean went back to the bathroom through it and pushed the door on the other side open, he was ready to confront his brother and find out what the hell he thought he was playing at. His anger at boiling point, making him forget his less than 100 physical condition. With barely a hint of a limp he marched into Sam's room he'd tear him a new one for trying to keep him cooped up while he recuperated. "What the hell do you-" he stopped abruptly when he saw the room was empty Sam wasn't here._ I'll just have to go find him and my clothes, this better not be his idea of a joke, cuz it's so not funny._

Pulling the towel tighter around his waist and tucking the end in firmly he left Sam's room and holding on to the balustrade for support, barefooted and bare-chested he slowly descended the stairs, he was a man on a mission, on a quest to find his brother and his missing clothes.

**TBC**

**Dean fresh out of the shower wearing nothing but a towel, my imagination is running wild, is yours? **

**It's suddenly got very hot in here. (Fans face.)**

**Thanks for reading.**

_**Silvertayl**_


	16. Chapter 16

_**SPITTING IMAGE **_

**DISCLAIMER:**

I own nothing much and no rights to anything at all to do with _**SUPERNATURAL!**_ (Although I wish I owned the rights to _**JA,**_sigh!)

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**Sorry it took so long to get this chapter up but the computers been sick with a virus and ended up having to go to hospital for a few days and then I lost half of this chapter (don't ask me how) and had to re-write it all, but now it's here, at last. YAY!!**

**So now we find out what happened to Dean's clothes and Sam's whereabouts. Maybe he's running around the Archer mansion in a towel as well?**

**Thanks as always to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.**

**Chapter 16**

_**The Archer Mansion - Savannah, Georgia **_

Sam sat back in the dining chair making a valiant attempt to give his over-full stomach room to accommodate the huge delicious breakfast he had just consumed. He normally didn't eat nearly as much as he had this morning; his intention was to eat a couple of pieces of toast, but when he'd entered the dining room the huge dining table was set and the mouth watering smell of grilled bacon and the unmistakable smell of fried mushrooms drew him to the buffet laden with food.

Five different fresh cut fruits, four kinds of cereals, a huge stainless steel pitcher of cold milk, three kinds of bread rolls, a mound of toast, crispy bacon, thick slabs of grilled ham, eggs cooked four different ways, grilled tomatoes and fried mushrooms, fresh brewed coffee and tea covered the buffet, along with jellies, marmalade, honey, peanut butter all kind of toppings and condiments, as he surveyed the sumptuous feast, Sam's stomach began to growl and he couldn't resist.

He'd just finished a plate full of various fruit and was helping himself to a plate of toast, bacon, poached eggs and mushrooms when he was joined by Matthew dressed in suit and tie, ready for the office.

He bade Sam a good morning and asked him how he slept and how was Dean before helping himself to some fruit, two bread rolls and some marmalade.

Sam told him that Dean was still asleep when he'd come down and admitted he himself and to Matthew that he'd had the best nights sleep since before the events at the church.

Since he and Dean had been on the road they had been together 90 of the time, whether it was researching a hunt, in the Impala driving to their next hunt, on a hunt or in a hotel or motel room before or after a hunt, very rarely were they separated. For the last week Sam had slept in the motel on his own without the comforting sounds of his protector, his guardian, his big brother close by and although last night Dean and he had still been 

in separate rooms, Sam had known Dean was only a few metres away on the other side of the wall, and Sam had slept like a baby.

Sam and Matthew made small talk while they ate with Matthew telling Sam a little about the real estate business in Savannah, some ten minutes later Matthew was finishing off his breakfast and Sam was sipping at his second cup of coffee when a pretty blond maid came in she smiled shyly at Sam when he thanked her as she placed his dirty dishes onto a large tray.

The sound of the door closing after her was followed a second later by a startled cry the sound of the dishes breaking which was accompanied by the clatter of the tray as it hit the floor outside the dining room door.

Sam and Matthew shared a look of surprise before they jumped to their feet, Matthew opened the door, he and Sam crowded in the doorway, observing the comic scene in front of them. Sam should have known the cause of the commotion had something to do with his brother.

The blond maid was kneeling down in the hallway plucking up the scattered pieces of the breakfast dishes and putting them on the tray beside her at the same time shooting sideways glances at Dean; an attractive blush running from her neck all the way to the roots of her blond hair. Dean his damp hair sticking up in tufts was trying to help her gather the shattered china, but was unable to bend over or squat down due to his wounds and the fact that he was naked except for the coral colored towel he was clutching around him at the waist with one hand, the other hand reaching out towards the broken dishes as he mumbled apologies to the poor embarrassed girl.

Sam heard Matthew make a sound in the back of his throat; Sam glanced at Matthew, and saw he was trying to stifle his amusement.

Hettie appeared in the open kitchen doorway drawn by the noise, she stopped dead staring wide-eyed at the sight in front of her. Her shocked stare turning to appreciation as she watched the well defined muscles of Dean's back ripple under his skin and his biceps bunch as he reached forward.

Matthew spoke, asking with a hint of laughter in his voice. "Julia what happened?"

Followed closely by Sam asking, "Dean, what are you doing?"

Both Dean and Julia started like two school kids that had been caught kissing behind the locker room, Julia surged to her feet smacking the top of her head into Dean's cheek.

Dean started back his free hand going to his cheek almost loosing his precarious balance and his grip on the towel, the blow causing tears to well in his eyes.

Julia was looking from Matthew to Sam absently rubbing the top of her head. "Sorry Mr. Archer it was an accident."

"Yes I'm sure." Matthew said, trying to hide his smile.

Hettie was now standing in between Dean and Julia, looking from one to the other. Sam thought she was struggling not to let her eyes lower to Dean's bare torso.

Dean sprang to the girl's defense; he looked at Matthew rubbing at his throbbing cheek as he said. "It was my fault, she didn't see me."

"I think she see's you now." Sam answered, looking Dean up and down.

Dean had only made it to the bottom of the stairs before he'd started to feel weak and shaky his usual sharp reflexes almost nonexistent he'd ploughed into the blond girl exiting the dining room carrying a large tray. The ensuing noise had drawn quite an audience, and now Sam was talking to him like he was a moron.

"What?" He said defensively.

"You could have put some clothes on before you came down." Sam sounded like he was talking to naughty child.

Until that moment Dean had forgotten that he was wearing nothing but a towel, his eyes moved downwards to his near nakedness and he felt heat rise to his cheeks, then he looked back at Sam before saying. "Thank you Sam for pointing that out, very helpful."

He looked in turn at the faces of the people surrounding him, none of them would meet his eyes; except for Sam who had a smart ass smirk on his face.

Sam thought this would be a moment he would remember for the rest of his life; because he had seen his brother blush maybe three times in his whole life.

Dean drew himself up trying to cover up his embarrassment with indignation. He returned Sam's smirk with an angry glare. "Well what did you expect someone took all my clothes?"

Hettie spoke for the first time. "It was me; I took them, to be laundered."

"But you took all of them, I've got nothing left." Dean said disbelieving. Thinking absently, _I need to sit down before I fall down._

"Yes and most of Sam's too, except for the ones he's wearing because he had already dressed when I went up to get them."

"I was going to bring you one of Master David's old robes to wear until your clothes are clean, dry and pressed. He's about your size." Her brown eyes again appraised him, noting the width of his shoulders and the wash board stomach.

Dean started to squirm under this new scrutiny and he seemed at a loss for words, which was something else Sam had hardly ever seen. His weakness temporarily forgotten Dean let go of the towel and crossed his arms over his chest finding his voice he said defiantly. "I don't do robes."

"Oh yes you do." Sam stated.

"Since when?" Dean queried.

"Since now." Sam answered.

Matthew interrupted the brotherly argument. "As entertaining as this is, I'm sorry Dean but I can't have you running around my house half naked and upsetting my staff and not to mention my china." Matthew said glancing down at the broken china trying to hide his smile and not succeeding.

Sam gave a snicker of laughter. Dean glared at him for the second time in five minutes and if looks could kill Sam would be six feet under.

"Well…. In that case I'll go back to my room then." Dean said as he again grasped the towel before gravity took over and he was left in his birthday suit, he turned towards the stairs.

Trying to make a dignified exit was hard and Dean could feel four pairs of eyes following him up the stairs, he grasped the banister hard and if he had the energy he would have taken the steps two at a time to get away from the stares, but the weakness was getting the better of him and he needed to lie down and to make matters worse he now had a throbbing cheek to add to his list of injuries.

After Dean disappeared from view Julia bent down and picked up the rest of the broken dishes putting them onto the tray. She looked at Matthew and said, "I'm sorry Mr. Archer."

"It's alright Julia; I know it wasn't your fault, accidents happen." He smiled at the girl; she turned away towards the kitchen.

Hettie was still gazing at the top of the stairs; she gave a sigh and a mental shake and then said. "I'll go and see how that laundry's coming along." She also headed towards the kitchen.

"Well that was an interesting start to the day, I'm off to the office, if you or Dean need anything just ask one of the staff, I'll see you later." Matthew moved along the hall towards the front door leaving Sam standing alone in the hall.

Sam didn't go back to his discarded coffee he decided to check on Dean, even though he thought at the moment his presence would not be welcomed, but apart from his embarrassment Dean had looked a little shaky and Sam wanted to make sure he hadn't overdone it by coming down stairs when he should have been resting.

-- SI --

Sam knocked on the closed door before he entered. Dean was lying on the bed his eyes closed, his face was pale except for the red mark on his left cheek, and Sam was immediately concerned.

He moved into the room and stood beside the bed. "Dean you okay?" Sam asked softly. When Dean didn't reply, his concern grew. _The strain of going up and down the stairs must have been too much for him._

After a long drawn out few seconds, without opening his eyes Dean said, "I'm super." A lie, but that was typical Dean.

"I'm sorry." Sam said.

"What for?" Dean didn't move or open his eyes.

"For embarrassing you downstairs." Sam said.

Dean gave a snort of forced laughter. "Oh God, kill me now."

"Dean I know you man and I'm sorry."

Another drawn out silence. "Whatever." Sam knew it was Dean's way of accepting Sam's apology.

Dean felt the bed dip as Sam sat down. "Hey Dean you hungry? They've got a breakfast banquet in the dining room fit for a king, there's enough food there to satisfy even you." Dean couldn't help himself he smiled.

Sam saw Dean's full lips twitch and then tip up in a smile. "Yeah guess I could eat."

"Well what are you waiting for, get your ass up." Sam lightly punched him in the arm to emphasize his point.

Dean at last opened his eyes and looked at him. "Can't." Was all he said.

"Why not?" Sam questioned.

Dean rolled his eyes before saying, "Your kiddin right? Jeezs Sam, your supposed to be the smart one, hello," with both index fingers Dean pointed at his own bare chest, "No clothes," then added, "I'm not gonna go through another scene like that again."

Sam gave a nervous laugh. "Oh yeah, I forgot," then he added, "Wait, so… you were embarrassed?"

Dean gave Sam another of those killer stares before he said. "Sam if you know what's good for you you'll drop it."

"Okay dropping it."

Sam stood, satisfied that Dean was okay. There was a knock on the door; Dean struggled into a sitting position, making sure that his nether regions were well covered by the towel. "Come in." Dean called.

The door opened and Hettie moved into the room, a black what looked like silk bathrobe folded over her arm. "I brought the robe for you." She glanced between the brothers then added, "I'll leave it here."

She placed the robe on the chair beside the bathroom door then turned towards the bed eyes cast down at the carpet.

"Thank you Hettie." Dean said waiting for her to say something else.

She continued to stand silently, eyes still down cast.

Dean glanced at Sam, he returned the look with a; _don't ask me, _look and shrugged.

After a few seconds of this uncomfortable silence, Hettie's eyes finally lifted from the very interesting carpet up over Dean's bare chest and then to his face.

Dean smiled waiting. "Y'all welcome." She said before she turned and left closing the door behind her.

The brothers shared an amused look, then let go and laughed.

**-- **SI** --**

When they had recovered from their fit of laughter, Dean donned the black robe and with Sam hovering near by he made his way back down the stairs to the dining room. Dean consumed an enormous amount of food and three cups of coffee.

Julia came in to clear the dishes, she seemed to have gotten over the earlier incident and Sam thought she looked disappointed when she saw Dean was wearing a robe instead of the much more revealing towel.

After Dean had eaten his fill Sam insisted that Dean go back up to bed and rest and escorted a grumbling Dean back up to the bedroom.

An hour later Oliver Bradstreet shambled into Dean's bedroom wearing the usual well-worn tweed jacket that seemed so much apart of who he was.

After examining Dean he declared. "Yes, yes healing very nicely, just take it easy and get plenty of rest."

Somehow he managed to stretch the house call out long enough to stay for lunch.

In the mid afternoon the brothers made their way out into the back garden, Dean now wearing his clean pressed clothes. He was relieved to find that who ever had pressed them hadn't put a crease down the front of his favorite blue jeans.

The warmth of the afternoon early spring sunshine felt good on Dean's face and quickly lulled to sleep; seated on the wrought iron garden setting he'd seen from the window earlier this morning.

When Sam discovered Dean had drifted to sleep he left him there and went back inside to check out Matthew's extensive library.

Finding a good selection of hard-cover books on modern law, he settled into a comfortable reading chair and immersed himself in the almost forgotten subject he'd studied so diligently at college only three short years ago.

Dean found him there some two hours later, happily chewing on the remnants of a late afternoon tea consisting of delicious home-made cakes and fresh coffee he'd scammed off the cook. "All I did was flash the lady killer Dean Winchester smile and she was like putty in my hands." Dean bragged.

Sam was pleased to see that the sunshine had given Dean's face a touch of color. He seemed at ease and there was no doubt he had his enormous appetite back which was a good sign that his brother was well and truly on the mend.

Later that night they dined with Matthew, the evening meal was lavish and sumptuous. Sam thought that if he and Dean kept eating all this rich food they would be shopping for larger clothes.

It was just the three of them as Matthew's wife Lilia was away visiting her sister in Atlanta and wouldn't be back for another week or so. Matthew seemed to enjoy their company. Sam and Matthew conversed about real estate and law associated with it. Dean kept Matthew amused with his comic input into the conversation. After the meal they shared a brandy with Matthew in his study before retiring.

They were half way up the staircase when Dean said. "You know Sam I could get used to this kind of life."

Sam looked sideways at his brother. "What, this life?" Sam gestured to the grand surroundings.

"You sound surprised, why shouldn't I want some of the finer things in life?" Dean answered.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Sam said with a hint of amusement.

"Shut up."

Sam persisted. "It's not like you; I thought you loved the life you're living."

"Yeah, but… I don't want to live the hunter life forever."

"But this life is so safe and… normal."

They'd reached the top of the stairs; Dean stopped and turned to Sam, anger in his voice when he said. "You think you've got a monopoly on wanting normal?"

"No of course not, it's just-"

Dean interrupted. "Forget about it, I'm sorry I brought it up." With that he walked away limping slightly, into his bedroom and closed the door.

Sam was standing staring at the closed door, his mouth half open to say something.

It had never occurred to Sam that Dean would want any other kind of life other than that of a hunter. It was the only life that Dean had ever known; since the age of four when the yellow-eyed demon had killed their mother; catapulting them and their father into a life that their mother never would have wanted for her beloved husband and sons.

Sam had wanted normal had sort it out and achieved it for four years when he'd run away to college. Yes he admitted it he'd run away from hunting and the lifestyle that went with it. But there was no running away from it, it dragged you back in; it owned you; for him the catalyst was the murder of his beautiful Jessica once again at the hands of that yellow-eyed bastard.

Why wouldn't Dean crave normal as he had? Perhaps his brother also had dreams of normal and safe, a wife, kids, a house in the suburbs with a white picket fence, a job far away from hunting, for Dean it would be an auto shop with his name above the door.

No one in their right mind would choose the life of a hunter.

If Dean could have a taste of normal and safe as he himself had even if it was only while they were here, then Sam would make sure Dean enjoyed it and got the most out of a little piece of normal. God knows if any one deserves it was Dean.

**TBC**

**Not a lot happening in this chapter, some fun at Dean's expense, some brotherly banter and some insight into what Dean wants from life. (From my perspective, at least.)**

**Thanks for reading, please leave me a review and let me know your thoughts.**


	17. Chapter 17

_**SPITTING IMAGE**_

_**STORY SUMMARY:**_

**In Savannah Georgia, a pattern of murders is repeated every 29 years. Dean and Sam suspect a vengeful spirit is responsible. As they uncover the facts behind the spirits actions; it becomes clear that one of the brothers is destined to become the spirits next victim; will they be able to stop the cycle of death, before it's too late for one of the Winchester Brothers? **

**AUTHORS NOTES:**

**I'm over the moon I've got over 100 reviews for **_**SPITTING IMAGE**_**, you guys rock!! Thanks heaps, now on with the story. Here's chapter 17.**

**Thanks as always to my beta Ms Okie Dokie.**

**Chapter 17**

_**The Archer Mansion - **__**Savannah, Georgia**_

Sam lay awake staring at the shadows of the trees reflected onto the ceiling by the moon. The patterns shifted and changed in the late evening Savannah breeze.

He couldn't sleep the conversation he'd had with Dean two hours earlier going around in his head.

Dean had shown a very rare glimpse into his mind, his heart and his soul; revealing to Sam the dreams he held secret from everyone and if Sam had it right even from himself. Sam should have known after Dean told him of the alternative life the Djinn had thrown him into, and how much he had wanted to stay that Dean wanted something different out of life, something more.

Sam's own thoughts were interrupted as the muted sound of mumbled words, accompanied by the low moaning of someone in pain, came to him; he couldn't make out the words or the direction from which they came. It tapered off; only to start up again a few seconds later.

It sounded like someone was in distress or pain or both. He sat up in the bed listening trying to gauge where the sounds were coming from.

The voice seemed to be coming from in the house, from the other side of the bathroom, where his brother was. Sam had left the door on his side of the bathroom open when he'd gone to bed. Now he got up from the bed wearing only a tee-shirt and a pair of boxers and went into and through the bathroom. He pressed his ear against the thick door to Dean's room.

The distressed and disturbing sounds were definitely coming from his brother's room, and yes it was Dean's voice he heard. Sam turned the handle and pushed the door leading into the dark room open and moved quietly into the room.

Dean was lying on his back arms and legs moving restlessly, his head tossed from side to side noises of pain and discomfort spilled from his lips, he was panting like he had been running and in the moonlight peeping through the curtains Sam could see a fine layer of perspiration glistening on his face and neck.

Anxiety caused Sam's own heart beat to jump up into his throat, swiftly he moved to the bed sitting down on the edge, he got a close look at his brother. Dean's eyes were screwed up in what looked like pain and his head continued to toss, mumbled unintelligible words and moans spilled from his lips. His right hand fisted and twisted in the sheet partially covering him, so tightly that the wound on that hand had begun to bleed, a dark stain spreading outwards. The pain filled moans sank to whimpers; Sam had never heard his brother whimper.

Dean was having a nightmare; a bad one. Tentatively he reached out towards Dean's shoulder unsure if he should wake him or not.

-- SI --

It was happening again; it had become so familiar, and he couldn't stop the onslaught.

_Damp heat pushed down on him pressing him down, pressing his side onto something hard and unyielding. The darkness lifted a little as light filtered through his closed lids and the voices became clearer and seemed somehow closer; he could make out some of the words they were saying. "I see the kidney and there's the tear." There was a note of triumph in the vaguely familiar deep male voice._

_Pain. It centered on his side, not the side pressed against that hard surface his other side, sharp and intense pain radiating into his very core. His heartbeat sped up and pounded hard against his eardrums. He almost missed the high-pitched squeaky female voice saying. "His heart rate's rising."_

_The pain intensified even more causing him to tense his muscles and groan into what ever that was pressed hard onto his mouth and nose. He tried to open his eyes to find out what they were doing to him that hurt so God-damned much, but he had no strength not even for that._

_The squeaky voice must have heard his moan of pain. A cool hand was placed on his burning forehead and she sounded closer like she was leaning over him when she said. "Oliver… I think he's awake."_

_The pain lessened off, and the man's voice said. "What?" The man's next words sounded closer like he too was leaning over him, "Dean can you hear me?"_

_Stop what ever the hell it is you're doin' will ya, hurts. I want Sam, where's Sam?_

_The familiar voice spoke again a note of tense anxiety laced the deep voice. "My god he is, more Fentanyl 20 ccs."_

"Dean… Dean wake up bro you're dreaming." A familiar deep voice was accompanied by a light shaking from the warm hand wrapped around his shoulder. Sam was there.

_This is different it's not right this is not how it ends; normally I wake up, heart pounding and covered in sticky sweat?_

Dean opened his eyes and was looking straight into the concerned blue/green ones of his brother. "Sam?" Dean's voice sounded scratchy and dry, even to his own ears, "what are you doing?"

"I'm waking you up, dude you were having a nightmare." Sam's voice had a calmness that did nothing to hide the concern written on his face.

Dean sighed and turned his head away, not wanting to see that look. "I'm fine Sam, just a bad dream." He said shocked by the shakiness of his tone.

"No you're not, tell me about it, come on man I wanna help." Sam was almost pleading. "This is not the first time is it?"

Dean continued to look away, knowing that if he looked at Sam he would have to tell him, and he didn't want too, not yet, not ever.

Sam let out his own sigh one of frustration and got up off the bed he went into the bathroom.

_That was easy - he's going, chalk one up for Dean. _But he was wrong he heard the faucet run briefly then the bed dipped as Sam sat back down, he felt Sam take his right hand from where it was tangled in the sheet and began to wipe at it gently with what felt like a wet cloth, and then he wrapped the damp thing around his hand.

Curiosity got the better of Dean he turned his head to see what Sam was doing and why.

Sam wiped away the blood from Dean's hand and then wrapped the washer around it and applied pressure to the re-opened wounds on both sides of his hand. Dean's head turned back towards him and looked at his hand in surprise.

"Just a bad dream huh? A bad dream that had you thrashing around so much you opened up your hand again."

"Sam…." Dean at last looked him in the eye.

"You are a stubborn bastard you know that."

"Look who's talkin'."

"What's goin' on with you why won't you talk to me, there's been something bothering you since you were at the clinic, it's eating you up inside, I'm your brother you can tell me, please let me let me help you," a pause, then, "what ever it is, we'll work it out, together…. as brothers"

Dean knew he was sunk; Sam was bringing out the big guns, the patented Sam Winchester puppy dog eyes and pulling the brother card.

"After last night I thought it had stopped." Dean found himself saying as he looked down at Sam's long fingers holding the washer against his palm.

"What had?"

"The nightmare."

"So tonight wasn't the first?"

Dean shook his head and brought his other hand up to rub at his damp forehead. "It started after the surgery."

"About James and Louis?"

"No."

"About what happened at the church?"

"No not that."

"Dean we could do this all night, tell me."

"I was awake or rather I woke up."

"Oh, in the surgery."

"You don't sound that surprised, at first I didn't realize what it meant and then I remembered."

"Dean, I know."

"You know?" Dean couldn't believe what he'd just heard; Sam had known all this time.

"Dr. Bradstreet told me right after the surgery, he didn't have any anesthetic, so he had to make do with something else. He said you probably wouldn't recall any of it though."

"Probably, well I recall and I tell you Sam I felt it as well, the pain and the pressure of someone's hands inside your body," Dean shuddered at the memory, "and I keep reliving it every night, but last night for some reason I didn't have the nightmare I thought it was over, but then tonight it happened again as you saw." Dean swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

"I don't understand why you didn't say anything before, if you had of brought it out in the open all this may have been avoided."

"Well I didn't want to worry you."

"You didn't want to worry me, Dean I've done nothing but worry about you since I first saw that portrait of James."

"Really?"

"Yes really."

"I'm sorry Sam."

Dean was surprised when Sam laughed. Dean curled his lip and said. "My apologizing, that's funny to you?"

"Yeah, because you're apologizing when I have no idea what for."

"For… being a jerk I guess."

"Well you got that right."

Dean smiled and closed his tired stinging eyes, rubbing at them with his thumb and index finger, and then he yawned. "God I'm so tired."

Sam squeezed Dean's arm before unwrapping the washer from Dean's hand. "Well at least the bleeding stopped, it should be alright now. Why don't you try to get some rest?"

As Sam stood Dean turned onto his side something he'd discovered he could do again without any discomfort and opened his eyes, he watched as Sam went back into the bathroom still carrying the bloodied face washer.

Sam threw the bloodied face washer into the basin and continued on into his room.

Dean lay there thinking about the conversation he'd had with Sam, now that he had told Sam and the nightmares were out in the open, he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders and somehow he knew that from now on he would have no more nightmares. He let his eyes slide shut; he knew he could sleep now.

He began to drift into that lethargic state just before sleep, when he felt the bed dip behind him.

Sam tiptoed back into Dean's room his brother appeared to be asleep his face was relaxed and he looked peaceful.

He went around to the opposite side of the bed and stretched out beside Dean on top of the covers.

Dean's voice came out of the darkness, "Sammy you're not thinking of spooning, are you?"

"Very funny Dean, I'm laughing on the inside, I was lonely by myself, so I thought I'd come sleep next to my big brother."

"Sorry Samantha you're not my type, I prefer my women without a five-o'clock shadow."

Sam couldn't contain the chuckle that bubbled up inside of him. "Night Dean."

"Night Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Night bitch."

"Night jerk."

Things were getting back to normal, well normal for the Winchester's. Everything was going to be alright.

-- SI --

_**Ten days later.**_

The time had come to move on, Dean was 95 recovered and it seemed both the Winchesters were restless to be back on the road, with no more talk of not pursuing the whole hunting evil thing and the hunter lifestyle.

When Sam had broached the subject of staying in Savannah and maybe settling down, Dean had said, "Are you out of your mind, Sammy I want to get back in there and kill some more evil sonsofbitches."

"But what about all that talk of normal and safe." Sam asked.

"Oh that, a moment of weakness, is all."

Sam looked hard at his brother he wanted to see if Dean was just saying that for his benefit, it would be so like him always putting Sam before himself. But on Dean's face and in his green eyes Sam saw the truth. Dean wanted to continue on the crusade of wiping out the evil in many different guises that walked the earth.

Sam was relieved and even though he had enjoyed the last ten days of being spoilt with soft beds, good luscious food and people around to do everything for him he was eager to be away from Savannah and the thought of doing so without Dean was unthinkable.

To some degree Dean was going to miss the marshmallow life he'd quite easily grown accustomed to over the last ten days, but not enough to make him want to stay, it had been nice for a change, but he was ready to move on Sam and him had work to do and he was itching get back in the game. He had a feeling Sam thought he had wanted to settle down in Savannah, and he had to admit to himself the idea was tempting, but how long would it be before he got sick to death of all that normality, _not long. _The open road was calling and beckoning and even though they didn't yet know their next destination, he was eager to answer the call and so was Sam that much he knew.

The Bradstreet's and Father Harper had been dinner guests on two occasions during their stay. The second time had been last evening.

Father Harper had never questioned why Matthew had the brothers who The Father had known of as journalists, staying in his home or Dean's healing but still obvious injuries. The brothers were convinced the octogenarian priest knew what had happened in his church and that was how Dean had come about the injuries. The man may have been ancient but he certainly wasn't stupid or senile, that was for certain.

When the Bradstreet's were leaving, Oliver had in turn enveloped them in a bone crushing but affectionate bear hug. Violet's kind brown eyes had filled with tears as she hugged and kissed them on the cheek. She had started to think of the boys as the children she and Oliver were never able to have. She was going to miss them and hoped to see them again someday, but not as patients, God forbid but healthy and happy.

Matthew had said his goodbyes before he had left for the office. He'd pumped their hands and said he couldn't thank them enough for what they had done.

A couple of days earlier Matthew had heard from his son David who was coming home to Savannah to settle down and was going to join his father in the family real estate business. Matthew hadn't been able to stop smiling ever since. Lilia had gone off to the hairstylist for her regular once a week appointment and had said her goodbyes after breakfast.

The Impala was packed up and they were ready to leave.

Hettie walked them to the front door; she looked sad and as with Violet had tears in her dark eyes. Dean had grown fond of Hettie over the last ten days. She handed Dean another white cloth napkin saying it was a parting gift from the cook. Dean knew what was inside some more of those delicious home made cakes. Dean took her hand but then leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek, _her turn to be embarrassed._ She handed Sam a large buff colored very fat envelope saying that Matthew had asked her to give them this when they were leaving. Sam took the heavy envelope a frown creasing his forehead unsure what the contents could be.

Hettie stood on the veranda watching as they went down the path. Before getting into the Impala both Dean and Sam raised their hand in farewell, Hettie returned the gesture and then went back inside closing the door behind her.

Once in the car, Dean immediately unwrapped the cakes and shoved one in his mouth, making serious happy noises as he chewed. Sam looked at him then shook his head before his eyes went back to the envelope sitting on the seat between them.

He picked it up and felt the weight it was heavy. "What do you suppose this is?"

Through a mouth full of cake Dean answered. "Why don't you open it up and find out?"

Sam tore the end off the envelope and tipped out the contents. A fat, banded buddle of hundred dollar bills and a neatly folded piece of paper spilled out onto the seat.

Dean picked up the wad of bills and fanned through them, then gave a low whistle. "Sam there must be twenty grand here." Dean said in disbelief.

Sam had unfolded the paper and was scanning the hand written note. "Wow."

"What's it for?"

Sam looked back at the note and read out loud:

_**Sam and Dean**_

_Please accept the enclosed money as a small token of my sincere appreciation and thanks for _

_all you have done not only for me and my family, but for Savannah, with never a thought for _

_the consequences to your own health and safety._

_I have asked Hettie to give you this as I knew you would not accept it from me personally. _

_I wish you God's speed on your quest and hope that you both travel and stay safe. I'll light a _

_candle and say a prayer for you both every Sunday in church._

_Thanks again and best wishes for the future,_

_**Matthew Archer**_

They sat in silence for half a minute the warm spring Savannah sunshine coming through the windscreen warming their faces; it was Sam who broke the silence. "We can't accept this Dean."

"Why not? We did a job for him and he's paid us for our hard work." Dean reasoned.

"But Dean it's too much."

"We earned it."

"Yeah I suppose."

"Suppose nothing, we did."

Sam looked back at the Archer mansion then back at Dean, a smile on his face. "So where to now and what do you wanna do with it?" He thought he knew what the answer was gonna be.

Dean returned his brother's smile before replying. "Get your laptop out Sammy and find out where the nearest casino is, of course."

Still smiling Sam reached over into the back seat retrieving the computer; he opened it up waiting for it to boot up so he could connect to the internet. "You know Dean we should really buy you some new clothes with some of this money."

"Loosen up Sammy, why must you be so practical all the time? We deserve to enjoy this money."

"I guess we do deserve a bit of fun for a change." _After what you've been through bro I think you do deserve it more than anyone. _

"You better believe it, bro, you got an address yet?"

"Here we go Millionaire's casino 42 E Bay Street, up near the river, but Dean it's only ten in the morning, will it even be open?"

"Most casinos are open 24/7 dude," Dean paused looking thoughtful, "think I'll play craps or blackjack or maybe both."

Dean started the engine put his baby into gear and headed north towards the river. Something drew Dean's eyes to the review mirror; _someone_ was watching them as they drove away, a sad smile on his face the spitting image of his own. James Archer. _Must be a trick of the light_ He glanced back at the road and then back to the mirror; the road behind was empty, there was no one there.

**THE END**

**Well folks there you have it; I hope you enjoyed the last chapter, please review and let me know your overall thoughts on **_**SPITTING IMAGE.**_

**Thank you for reading and for taking another journey with me into the fan fiction world of the intrepid Winchester Brothers.**

**I have another hunt lined up for the brothers and will post the first chapter in a week to twelve days, it will be called: **_**FROM BAD TO WORSE. **_**I hope you will join me on another ride in the Impala, with our beloved Winchesters.**


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